Words Not Said
by Maelyn Rey
Summary: Yami's acting weird. Yugi can't figure out why. What's wrong? And can Yugi unravel the mystery? crappy, yes, but the old summary was bugging me I'll come up with a better one later.
1. Chapter 1

**Words Not Said**

By: Maelyn Rey  
Summary: Yami visits Yugi in the middle of the night, but he won't tell him why.  
Disclaimer: Neither Yugi nor Yami belong to me. More's the pity.  
Warning: Possible shounen-ai, but not really; at least not yet.. I've finally been corrupted. But it's not my fault!  
AN: see bottom.

o/o/o/o/o

He was sleeping, floating in a sea of warmth surrounded by darkness; yet this darkness held no fear, no danger. This darkness was comfortable, inviting. He didn't want to leave it, but he couldn't seem to immerse himself in it, either. Something was holding him back.

"Yugi?"

The voice startled him and he flinched lethargically in the dark. His thoughts flailed sluggishly for who had called him—why, though he knew immediately an answer was desired. "Mm?" he mumbled interrogatively until his mind broke free, recognized the voice, the silent presence—shadow—near his feet. "Yami? What are you doing?" he slurred.

He half expected the other to turn on the light and shift closer. But the room remained dark, and Yami stayed where he was, perched on the edge of the bed furthest from where he was. Space lay between them; a space he hadn't realized was there, a space greater than the distance between them, and one he couldn't figure out the reason why. It was a moment before Yami spoke: ". . . I couldn't sleep."

The mute voice surprised him, caused him to partially sit up. More aware, he tried to peer through the gloom to see the other's face, but though moonlight trickled through the window, none of it fell on the figure at the foot of his bed. He frowned as he was thwarted. "What's wrong?" he asked. And something was, he could tell.

Silence stretched over the room, but Yami didn't speak. He just sat there.

Yugi sat up the rest of the way, feeling his blankets pooling around his waist. "Yami, what's the matter?" he prompted.

The words seemed to call the other back from some great void; he stirred, moved further away. Yugi heard it. "Nothing, Yugi. Go back to sleep."

"Yami. What is it?" It pained him that Yami was troubled, that he was hiding whatever was bothering him from him. There had been a time, not that long ago, when they shared everything. "Tell me."

But he didn't. He stood, moved towards the door. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Yami. . . ." He didn't know what to say, didn't know what he could say . . . didn't even know what was wrong. So he just stared into the darkness trying to will his friend to come back to him and talk about whatever it was. Was it something he did?

The shade did not return to the bed, but it did not pass through the door either. Yugi could see one of Yami's hands resting against the doorframe. He wished he could see his face. He wished he knew what to ask, what to say, to get the old Yami back, the one that would talk to him when he was troubled, even if what they were talking about wasn't what was really bothering him. He was still there, still letting Yugi in and, sometimes, he knew that in itself helped immensely, was enough. Enough to let Yami know he wasn't alone.

He tilted his head to the side sadly as he regarded the still figure yet in his doorway. He wondered what held Yami there; if he didn't really want to leave and felt he had to, or if he really did want to leave and wouldn't because he somehow still felt he needed to because Yugi wanted it.

Unexpected pain lanced through the youth at that thought, arcing through his heart and jolting him like lightning. He blinked back tears and made to get up before sinking, disheartened, back onto the bed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He wanted to help—needed to—but Yami had to come to him when he was like this. He remembered all to well how Yami reacted when he was pushed.

As a spirit trapped within the Millennium Puzzle, he had disappeared for days at a time, locking himself away within the item's many layers and refusing to answer the mind-link no matter what he said or how he begged. And he had. He shuddered to think that Yami might somehow managed to disappear so thoroughly now, when the Puzzle was no longer his home. He didn't think he could bear for the other to leave now. He half suspected he would never see him again if he did.

"Yami?" he called quietly. A hint of movement indicated the other's attention, like a head turning his way. "Stay with me?"

The words barely made it past the fear which clenched his throat, the fear that he would say no, fear that even if he agreed he wouldn't really want to, would resent. He tried to quiet the latter by telling himself Yami would never have come to him in the first place if he hadn't wanted to be near him; but the silent stillness that stretched after his plea did nothing to soothe his heart.

His heart breaking, he was about to say "never mind" and free his dear friend from any obligation when the elder said, "Alright."

Yugi's breath caught in his chest, but the shadowy form of Yami approaching kept him from doubting his ears. Barely pausing to consider what he was doing, he scooted as far back as he could, making a place for the other, pulled back the covers, and patted the now empty space. He saw the silhouette pause, then sighed in quiet relief as the other continued forward and gingerly climbed in.

His movements suggested he was walking on glass as he slid between the blankets, but Yugi pulled the covers back over the other as soon as he was settled, as if by doing so he could lock the elder in place. He smiled then as he lay on his side, despite the fact that he wasn't sure if Yami could see the expression. "Comfortable?" he asked.

"Yes," Yami said. But he did not sound comfortable. His body was stiffly rigid, and Yugi could tell by the space between them that he had settled on the very edge of the bed, as far away from Yugi as he could possibly be without falling off.

He resisted the urge to sigh as another stab of pain pierced his heart, worried that the sound might make his other feel like he was failing him or something. But as he stared at his friend's shadow blurred profile he felt compelled to ask softly, "Is it something I did, Yami?"

The elder looked at him quickly, but Yugi couldn't read his expression. "You haven't done anything wrong." Not exactly what he had asked.

"So you're not mad at me?"

A sigh ghosted the air between them. "I could never be mad at you, Yugi."

There had been a time, Yugi remembered, that Yami would have said more. There was a time when Yami would have called him _aibou_, partner, or at the least, friend. That he had done neither this entire time struck the youth deeply and the tears he had fought off earlier slipped soundlessly from his crystal eyes. He hoped Yami could not see him

He forced a smile, willed it to come through in his voice. "Good night, Yami."

"Good night, Yugi."

The tears fell faster.

o/o/o/o/o

AN: Alright. If you want me to continue, you have to review, and you have to give me some ideas on where to go with it. I hit a road-block though I have a vague idea of where it _could_ go. Eh, let me know if it sucks, too, right?


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, all! I have another chapter for you. It took me about a dozen tries, but whatever. Unfortunately, I still have no idea, really, where this is going, so the next chapter is probably going to take awhile. Suggestions are still welcome (and if I stipulated "good" before, I take it back now; good or bad, feel free to offer suggestions.) I enjoy reading them, seeing where you think this story could go.

Um, ff-net screwed up the whole reviewer response thing and I'm not completely clear on it, so no responses (frowns). But if you have questions, I'll answer them, even if it's an 'I don't know' or 'I can't tell you.' Hehe.

That said, I've only seen up to the beginning of the duel between Kaiba and pink-haired French dude (what's-is-name—Sigfried?) so I don't know anything about the end 'cept what I've read from people who've written about it, a dubious source. In any case, I'm taking liberties with it. I know any details I provide are probably wrong. Now, no more talking, and onto the fic!

o/o/o/o/o

_For a long moment, all he did was stare at the door. He had no reason to, except that Yami had passed through it; his mind was having a hard time accepting that it was over. After three years working to save the world from utter destruction, the Spirit of the Puzzle was gone._

_The Ceremonial Battle was over. Yugi had won. And now Yami had passed through the door before him to the Afterlife. It was a door he only had to stop to the side to see around, but that would not take him to his friend, his darkness, his other half. No, the only way to do that was to actually pass through it, and he could not; he could not open it. No one here could._

_The door was broad and thick, solid stone the color of the Egyptian sands, bordered in gold. Hieroglyphics stretched across the top and bottom, and the Eye of Ra stared at them from above the Scales of Truth. Where the handle should have been, there was a gold tracing of a scorpion. It held his eyes, his mind replaying that fateful moment when Yami's hand had stretched toward it, that endless moment when his heart had begged him to bid the other stop._

_He blinked, chasing away the image as the Pharaoh's fingers brushed the gold, leaving only the door to stand before him when they opened. He took a deep breath and felt it waver with suppressed tears. Bakura stepped next to him._

"_I guess this is it," the white-haired boy said softly, his British accent thicker than normal. His hand brushed against his chest, where the Millennium Ring used to hang._

_Yugi's own hand rose to grasp the Puzzle, but he felt only air where it should have been and his finger's contacted leather. The Millennium Puzzle was gone; it had left with Yami, with the Pharaoh Atemu. "Yeah," he agreed, voice just as soft. "This is it."_

_He felt he should turn away, then, but neither he nor Ryou moved. Neither took their eyes from the door. He kept expecting it to fade away, to disappear, to make this final. But it still stood. It made him hope. . . ._

"_It doesn't feel right, does it?"_

_No, it didn't. He shook his head. He couldn't quite findthe willto give voice to his agreement. It would make his hope real. It would make it even more painful when that hope died._

"_Yugi? Ryou?"_

o/o/o/o/o

Yugi straightened the cards in the display case with somber preoccupation. His hand moved from one to the other lethargically, lining them up precisely but without the usual enthusiasm and care that generally characterized his actions, a small frown on his face, his eyes lacking their customary light. He simply couldn't stop thinking about Yami, about what had happened last night.

Even the little old grandmother he had helped to pick out a birthday present for her grandson hadn't been able to distract him for more than an hour—the time it had taken to complete the transaction and her to leave. Then his mind retreated to the same questions, the same worries, which had plagued him since he woke.

What had happened? Why had Yami felt the need to wake him? Why wouldn't he talk about it? Was it something he, Yugi, had done? Something he hadn't done? Was it something _Yami_ had done, something he felt guilty about? Was it something he had overlooked and should have noticed?

Groaning, closing his eyes again the whirl of thoughts he could not answer, as if by doing so he could push them away, the eighteen year-old boy wished desperately that the mindlink that had kept each aware of the other's thoughts had survived the transition from trapped Spirit to living, breathing, solid human being. But when Yami—he refused to call the other Atemu and dared not consider why—had passed through the Door of Judgment, the link had been broken, and it had not returned with his reappearance.

The teen scowled at a stack of magazines that refused to straighten to his satisfaction. That anyone else would have considered them perfectly straight was inconsequential.

It didn't help, either, that the former Spirit had been gone when he awoke, his side of the bed stone cold. For a minute, he had been half-certain the incident had been a dream. But he had closed the door when he went to sleep (the house felt too big with it open, he too vulnerable) and it was open when he woke, so Yami had to have been there; Grandpa had left two days earlier to visit an old friend (which one eluded him). And since Yami had been there, what he thought happened much actually _have_ happened.

Or so he thought. Others might disagree.

But having thought, concluded, he couldn't quite decide if maybe it wouldn't be better if it was a dream, a figment of his imagination. That would mean the once-Spirit hadn't been distressed enough to wake him in the middle of the night. But even if it was so, and Yami hadn't come to him last night, that didn't change the fact that Yami was acting strange, had been ever since they returned to Japan, maybe even before that and he simply hadn't noticed, too caught up in the strangeness of everything that had happened to notice any odd behavior in a being that had always before lived inside his head.

That final thought always surprised him with how much it hurt, that it was possible Yami had suffered without him noticing anything at all. This was the third time it had occurred to him this morning. The bottom line, though, mindlink or no mindlink, was something _was_ wrong, however long it had taken him to realize it.

And he didn't know how to fix it, not even if it could be fixed. And now Yami wasn't talking to him.

Ever since their return from Egypt two weeks ago, Yugi had taken to watching the store for his Grandpa in the mornings (he actually did it every summer, at least for a week or two). It had given him something to do since he tended to wake earlier and Yami tended to sleep late. Then, when the other did wake, he would come down and sit with him in the shop until the elder Mutou came to relieve them, usually after he had made their lunch. Ever since Grandpa had left, though, Yami had taken to spending the time locked up in his room.

Before, he had just thought the other wanted some time to himself, but now he wondered if there wasn't more to it. He snorted; of course there was more to it. But what did it have to do with his Grandpa leaving? He didn't understand, and that inexplicableness was beginning to seriously worry him.

The bell over the door tinkled softly, and Yugi looked up from the box of booster packs he had been digging through at his feet, a smile plastered on his face to greet the new customer. His intended greeting died on his lips, however, when he spotted two familiar white-haired individuals. He blinked a couple times, just to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, before finding his voice. When he did, his smile was more genuine, warm and welcoming.

"Ryou! Bakura! What are you doing here? I'm so glad you came by! How've you been doing?"

Ryou chuckled good-naturedly while Bakura scowled, and he was the one who answered, his soft voice happy. "We actually came by to see how you and Atemu are doing. It's been a while since we last saw each other, and it's kinda weird, you know, after seeing each other practically all the time in Egypt."

"I know what you mean," Yugi said. "Ever since we got back, it's been like something's missing."

"Yea—"

"Touching as this is," Bakura broke in with a sneer, "I'd rather not be here for it. Where's the Pharaoh?"

"Uh," Yugi answered intelligently, thrown by the question. "In his room, I think; upstairs."

His head jerked down in a sharp nod before Bakura pushed past them and through the door into the house. The other two boys could only stare in surprise as the Thief disappeared from view.

Yugi wondered vaguely if someone hadn't changed the order of the universe while he was sleeping, or transported him to one of those alternate dimensions like the ones shown in all those TV shows where the people were the same but they acted completely different. He looked at Ryou helplessly.

The other boy shrugged. "He's been like that all morning."

"I didn't think he could stand Yami."

"I know," Ryou agreed, not commenting on his naming Atemu Yami. "I didn't think so, either, but it was actually his idea to come in the first place."

"What?"

The albino nodded. "It caught me by surprise, too. I still don't know what to make of it, but I've been wanting to visit, so I agreed, and here we are."

"And I'm glad you came." Yugi frowned. "I just wish I understood it all. Yami's been acting weird, too."

"You don't think it has something to do with Egypt, do you?"

"I don't know," Yugi answered. "I've tried to get him to talk about it, but he just pretends there's nothing wrong."

"It's the same way with Bakura."

"I just don't know what to think," he continued with a sigh. His eyes met his friend's fearfully. "You don't think, maybe, they regret coming back, do you?"

"I sure hope not," Ryou answered heavily. "I don't think they could go back now, even if they wished to, and I'd hate to think I was holding him here against his will."

"Yeah, me too."

Fearful tension hung in the air, conjured by their dark thoughts so that it seemed the weight of the future pressed down on them, heavy with everything unknown, rank with possibilities; and beneath that oppression the silence seemed deafening.

Yugi glanced back at the door leading inside, the slab of wood partially ajar. "They're awfully quiet," he commented softly.

"Yeah," agreed Ryou. "You don't suppose they're planning something."

"What plans would a Tomb Raider want a Pharaoh in on?"

"Point taken. But a lot has changed in the last few months."

"I know." And he did. It used to be he would be having this conversation with Yami about Ryou Bakura. His eyes scanned the still empty store, briefly took in the deserted street outside the store window and the clock, then fixed anxiously back on the albino. "Should we ask them about it?"

"I don't know," Ryou hedged. "But I've tried already, and from what you've told me, you have too. I think, maybe, we'd be better off letting them come to us, instead of trying to force them before they're ready." Yugi wondered, sadly, what fears danced behind soft brown eyes as Ryou spoke that last. A shiver ran up his spine. His own fear compelled him to ask:

"But what if they don't?"


	3. Chapter 3

Bonjour! Fast, ne? Well, for me anyway, but you haven't experienced that yet. Though . . . if the number of reviews I get cuts in half with each chapter you may. (JK, unless it happens, then I'll simply have to do what I must. Ha.) Hehe.

Hmm. I think I'll explain the italics for you. It'll become clear, later, but I'm not entirely sure how soon 'later' is. This story (in case you couldn't tell) is third person limited from Yugi's pov. And the italics are neither dreams nor memories, though so far they've only occurred when one or more characters are sleeping. It's actually a . . . parallel storyline, so to speak. And they're not limited to Yugi's pov. They also won't necessarily occur in chronological order even though the normal story will. I'm playing here, can you tell? I'm not sure how it will come out. It's an experiment. I think you'll appreciate it later.

Um. Oh yes—I actually have the how figured out for this story, and a rough timeline to keep me on track though I'm not sure how many chapters there'll be. Depends on how cooperative the characters are. I think you'll want to kill me soon. By the way, how do ya'll feel about Teá? Not that she'll be called that; she's Anzu because I don't feel like putting in the accent so she's not Tea, which is a drink not a person, not even an anime person. All other names with be American simply because, unless you want them to be Japanese. If you do, you have to tell me this chapter and there has to be at least 10 requests for it.

So sorry for the extra long AN, it shouldn't happen again. Enjoy! BTW, I'll try to keep the random Japanese to a minimum.

o/o/o/o/o

"Baka Pharaoh!"

Yugi's head snapped up, the youth dimly aware that beside him Ryou copied the action, in time to see Bakura storm into the Shop from the house, following his growled outburst with a string of Ancient Egyptian (he presumed) curses, the white-haired Thief as angry as he had ever seen him—eyes narrow slits, gravity-defying spikes flared about his face, body tensed, crouched, like a predator ready to pounce on the first wretch unfortunate enough to cross his path.

The violet-eyed youth exchanged a bewildered glance with his friend. "Bakura?" Ryou prompted timidly, half sliding from his seat in preparation to run.

A feral snarl dropped from curled lips as he whirled on the pair. "You coming or staying?" the Egyptian demanded.

"What?" yelped the albino.

"Fine!"

"But—" Yugi shrugged when Ryou glanced at him for an explanation of the Thief's behavior. Then the door slammed and the albino jumped from the seat. "Yugi, I—"

"Just go!" the violet-eyed boy interrupted, smiling. "Before he banishes someone to the Shadow Realm. We can talk more later."

"Bye!"

He watched Ryou sprint to the door from behind the counter, then followed as the gentle boy called, "Bakura! Wait! I'm coming!" When he opened the door and looked down the street, he saw his friend grasp the agitated Egyptian's arm, get shook off, and reach to do it again. He could hear their voices, just barely, but their words were lost in the distance between them. Then Bakura turned down another street, Ryou following, and they were gone.

Yugi stared at the spot where they had disappeared as the event played over in his head, a single question running through his mind even as the adrenaline-tension eased. He looked the other way down the street, then stepped back inside with a sigh and closed the door. Nimble fingers twisted the lock then flipped the closed sign; there was no point in staying open if he didn't have any customers. Maybe he and Yami could spend some quality time together. He turned to go back to the counter—

—and jumped back in surprise, slamming into the door with rattling force and a stuttered thud. It was a panicked moment before the shadowed figure leaning against the counter registered itself as a familiar form.

"Yami!" he exclaimed, hand going to his heart in relief to make sure the pounding organ wasn't about to burst free of his chest. "Don't do that! You scared the life out of me."

A small smirk played about the other's lips. "Forgive me. Were you expecting someone else?"

"No. I was expecting _no one_," he grumbled, glaring lightly. "That's why you scared me." He walked towards his friend, straightening things as he went. "When did you come down, anyway?"

"Just now," the former Spirit replied with a shake of the head, turning to face Yugi as he stepped behind the counter. "I thought I'd make sure the Tomb Robber didn't kill anyone on the way out."

"What happened?"

Yami shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable though his face was impassive, and half turned away. "Just Bakura being Bakura," he assured. "You know how touchy he is."

Yugi did, but he was sure there had to be more to it than that; the other's behavior suggested as much, yet he was hesitant to call the Pharaoh on it. Yami had already been so distant lately, he was afraid prying at another subject he obviously wanted left alone would push him away further, especially if the incident were to be somehow connected with whatever was bothering him in the first place. Perhaps Bakura had mentioned something?

The boy took a deep breath and exhaled silently, pushing away the rest of his questions as he did so and shoved a refilled box of chocolate bars back to their proper position on the counter. He studied them as he spoke, uncertain of what Yami's reaction would be and not quite able to bring himself to face it.

"Well," he said hesitantly, "business is slow, so I was I could close the Shop early and we could go out for lunch, that is, if you wanted to." He held his breath for the reply, but when the silence stretched longer than he had expected, he looked up. Yami was looking away from him, staring across the store so all the boy could see was the back of his head. His shoulders looked tense. "Yami?"

The taller youth turned then, regret on his face. "Forgive me, Yugi, I can't. Anzu and I are going out this afternoon. I guess . . . I forgot to tell you." Crimson eyes flashed quickly to the door. "She should be here soon, I think."

"Oh . . ." Yugi felt like the floor had just been pulled out from under him. His eyes automatically traced down the other's lithe form, noticing for the first time the form-hugging black light-reflecting leather pants and matte-black sleeveless shirt, accented by leather straps with silver buckles that started at his collar and traced a line down his right breast. Two belts slung low over his hips, one the customary leather that held his dueling deck and the other a slinky silver chain whose trailing end dangled again his thigh. Silver-accented leather wristbands bound his wrists, and a matching strip wrapped his neck, somehow enhancing the look of his exotic, slanted eyes. A light jacket dangled from loose fingers.

His eyes lingered on that hand, studying their curl as he couldn't look at his friend's face. "Is it a date?" he asked, pleased when his voice sounded mostly normal.

"You could come with us, if you like," the elder offered quickly, ignoring Yugi's question, his voice somewhat tight, strained, casting doubt on his invitation. "Anzu wouldn't mind." But Yugi saw his fingers clench spasmodically at the jacket on that last and he had his answer.

He looked up with a smile, ruthlessly squashing his disappointment. "No, that's okay. I don't want to intrude. If it's a date, it's a date. Besides, there's plenty I need to do here. You two have fun."

Yami frowned, though Yugi still couldn't read much from his eyes, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Really!" Yugi insisted, cutting him off before he could do so. He almost cheered when he caught sight of Anzu outside the window and hurried to open it for her before he could do something stupid and prompt Yami to cancel the date. He felt the strain of his smile keenly. "Hey, Anzu!"

"Hello, Yugi," she greeted happily. She wore a short black skirt and a matching tube top under a pink jean jacket, purse slung over her shoulder. Black teardrop earrings swayed with every twitch of her head. She gestured at the door. "Are you done already?"

"Oh no," he answered quickly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly at the reminder of his previous plan, his eyes slipping past her to the mostly empty street. "No, I'm just taking a break for lunch, that's all."

"Oh!" She brushed some hair behind her ear. "Do you want us to watch the Shop for you while you eat? It's no problem."

"No, no," the youth assured quickly, feeling the strain increase exponentially, and waved his hands dismissively before walking to the counter. He passed Yami and his eyes flickered up long enough to catch a slight frown on the other's face. He looked away, swallowed, and continued speaking, willing his voice to normalcy. "I couldn't ask you to do that, not when you have a date. Besides, friends or no, there's no point. We've barely had a customer all day. You'd be wasting your time."

"Are you sure, Yugi?"

"Yep!" Yugi placed his hands on the counter. He could feel himself shaking and knew that if he didn't get out of her soon, he was going to fly to pieces. "Go have a great time." His cheeks hurt from holding his smile in place when all it wanted to do was slide off, but if that happened Yami would know something was wrong instead of just maybe suspecting.

"If you're sure," Anzu said.

"Yugi. . ." Yami began, the tone familiar and he knew he had to get them out.

"Go!" he insisted earnestly, all but bouncing on the spot. "Have fun. I'm just gonna go make myself a sandwich. . . ." He started backing away, pointing vaguely over his shoulder towards the house door. "Yami, could you . . . could you lock the door on your way out? Please?"

Yugi smiled a thanks without waiting for the other's assent, knowing it didn't matter, and almost ran through the door, ascending the short steps to the house proper at record speed and sinking against the first wall he came to as soon as he was up the stairs and out of sight, his smile gone as if it had never been.

With his back pressed tightly against the wall, he drew his legs to his chest and wedged his trembling hands between them and his chest, then leaned his head back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. He was still—he knew he was still—but his body shivered like it was the middle of winter, his teeth chattering if he didn't clench them shut. Yet he wasn't cold. He was sweating.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked the darkened, empty house before pressing his forehead to his knees. Dimly, he heard the bell tinkle as someone opened the door and heard it bang closed. Some of the tension wired through him eased slightly, then; but he still half feared Yami would walk through the door and crouch beside him. He didn't know what he'd do then.

His breath shuddered as he sighed it past parted lips, muttered, "Chill out, Mutou," under his breath, as fiercely as he could manage. "They're just your friends."

The assurance did little. "They're gone now," helped a little more, but he didn't truly _know_ that, and he needed to. Still trembling, Yugi crawled toward the door and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He stumbled silently down the short stairs and peeked hesitantly around the door, again half expecting Yami to be there. But the room was empty, and when he reached the door it was locked. Satisfied the door was locked and he really was alone, he retreated back into the living room.

By that time, he felt almost normal, save the kind of shivery fatigue that made him think of high fevers. He ignored it, though, and went into the kitchen, gathering supplies from the fridge by rote and taking them to the counter to make a sandwich, not because he was in any way hungry but because he had told Anzu he was going to eat lunch and it was the only thing he could think to do. And he needed something to do.

So he pulled out the dread, dutifully twisting it closed once he claimed his slices, and spread some mayonnaise across one side of each, dropping a bit on the counter between the jar and the bread, wiping it up, then piling some turkey on one of the slices, some mustard squeezed from the bottle, a slice of cheese, followed by the second piece of bread, all without really registering what he had done, all without thinking about anything else, his thoughts a low buzz in the back of his mind, like a radio tuned to the wrong station with its volume turned down low. A plate, then he carried the sandwich to the table and sat.

Violet eyes studied the sandwich but Yugi made no move to eat it. Instead, he put his elbows on the table and braced his head in his hands. 'What happened?' he asked himself. 'One minute you were perfectly fine—a little disappointed maybe, but nothing big—and the next you were freaking out. Because of Anzu. What were you thinking?'

He had no answer. His turkey sandwich looked like it knew, but it wasn't talking; it just sat there in pride of place in the center of his plate and stared.

"Anzu wouldn't hurt me," he told it. It didn't react. He prayed to the gods for his sanity that he hadn't expected it to. He sighed, confused, and scrubbed his hands over his face, then turned sideways to look around the kitchen. His eyes lingered on the mayonnaise and mustard bottles that marred the otherwise spotless counters, trying stubbornly to sort out his feelings . . . figure out why he had lost it.

He sighed again. He wished his grandpa was home. The elder Mutou always knew how to make him feel better, and maybe he would have some insight into what was going on. After all, he had been young once, even if that had been a long, long time ago. . . .

Yugi shook his head violently. No; scratch that. He wasn't ever going to tell Grandpa about this. It was nothing, just him being stupid. If Yami wanted to go out with Anzu, spend time with her, he should be happy, and he would be. Was. He was happy. For him. Yami deserved to have a girlfriend and go on dates and get to enjoy himself and have a life. He'd been trapped in a puzzle for five thousand years, after all. So he deserved to have a nice life, especially after being so patient in sharing a body with him and protecting him and waiting to get his memories back just so he could enjoy himself with his friends and participate in a stupid tournament.

So long as Yami was happy, it didn't matter who he was happy with. If it was Anzu, the same Anzu he had had a crush on, then so be it. At least he knew she was nice and supportive and generous, more than just a pretty face, and that she would take care of his Yami.

Not that he needed to be taken care of, or his was _his_ anymore. He would probably be the one taking care of Anzu; but either way, at least he would know they were both safe, and taken care of. He could be happy for them. Was. He had just been taken by surprise, that was all. There was no reason why he should _not_ be happy. His friends were.

It must be the stress. That was it. First, that whole Kaiba Corp Grand Championship thing, then going to Egypt, that weird adventure thing in the Memory World (which he supposed wasn't really real at all, for him, being a memory), then the Ceremonial Battle and winning, and losing despite winning because Yami left, and then getting him back and him having a real body, and Bakura returning too, and the excitement and, and, and. . . .

Yugi took a deep breath, holding it and cutting off the mile-a-minute whirl of thoughts. Yes, it was definitely the stress. And now that Yami had his own body, he needed to get used to the fact that the former Spirit didn't _have_ to go everywhere with him anyone and most likely didn't want to.

His breath gusted out of him, dropping his shoulders, and the boy stood, carefully picking up the items on the counter and dutifully replacing them in the fridge. Then he returned to the table and picked up the plate, dumping the untouched sandwich in the trash. He wasn't hungry.

His hand trailed along the wall as he left the kitchen and moved through the living room back to the Shop. He stepped quietly, trying not to break the silence that hung over the room, and flipped the sign back to open. He jumped a little as the lock clicked, then walked slowly, dreamily back to the counter. He had the strangest feeling that if he moved too quickly, too suddenly, something would break.

The boy plucked a magazine from one of the nearby shelves and flipped it open. It would distract him from his boredom while he waited for a customer. And when Yami got back, maybe they could talk about his date with Anzu. Who knew, maybe she could even get him to talk about what was bothering him.

Yugi looked out the window then, sorrow and hope twining through him. Quietly, he turned the page.

o/o/o/o/o

Yami wasn't home by the time Yugi closed the shop for real at six o'clock. He'd had only four more customers the entire day and none in the last hour and a half. One of them had been a teenager who came in with his girlfriend. They had walked around arm-in-arm, the girl occasionally giggling at something the other said. He had been glad when they left.

He swept the floor, wiped the counters, straightened the shelves . . . all with the sign turned but the door unlocked, hoping Yami would get home before he was done. But he didn't. The lock clicked home with a soft thud when he turned it and the lights died without a sound when he flipped the switch, unless you counted the sharp _thock_ of the switch itself.

He left the lights off in the living room and kitchen, deciding he didn't need them, the light from the setting sun streaming through the windows still enough to see by. He pulled a frozen dinner from the freezer that was probably a year old and was carrying it to the living room on a tray five minutes later, steam rising in a thin, ghostly stream. He still wasn't hungry, but he thought he could eat it.

Ten minutes more saw Yugi perched on the couch with a movie playing on the TV, dinner in his lap, only half paying attention to the opening credits. He kept listening for the sound of the back door opening. The first hour and a half slipped away without change. He put in another movie, but his eyes strayed more often to the clock by the mantle than flickering screen.

By nine o'clock, he was asleep, half-sprawled across the arm of the couch, and he was still alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, first: must apologize for delay. Would say this chappie was extra-long to make up for it but it's really me indulging myself. I hope you don't mind too terribly much. Bear with me on the time thing, please. Second: I'd like to thank all my reviewers for taking the time to review, with an especially big thanks for Serena the Hikari of Love, dragonlady222, Master Elora Dannan, and Mjus for having reviewed all 3 chapters. Love ya!

There was something else. . . . Nope, it's gone. Wait—I remembered! American names won out, sorry Hikari Skysong: if there's something you'd like to see, tell me and I'll see what I can do. Now, on to the real reason you're here.

o/o/o/o/o

_A low rumbling sounded throughout the room, nothing more than a hint of pressure against the mind, then a hum that bounced teeth, a deep purr that rose—grew—to vibrate the walls and ceiling, dislodging rushes of sand from the ancient, weathered stone to fall upon their heads. For one panicked, terror-filled moment, he thought the whole chamber was coming down on their heads. Then he noticed the light._

"_Hey, guys! Look!"_

_He was turning against his will, before Joey's words registered in his mind, before he even knew what the blond wished them to see, where he wanted them to look; he knew without knowing, drawn to the light. It shone from the hieroglyphs tracing the Door's edges, and from the Eye of Ra, bleeding from the Scales and the trace scorpion which stood in place of the handle. _

_He was reminded of the Puzzle, that light, how it used to glow, and could not look away. Even when it intensified, became blinding._

"_The Door!" Anzu cried suddenly, shock and fear trembling her voice, fear of the unknown. "It's opening!" She was the first to realize, to understand. The others gasped, their surprise swallowed by the rolling thunder. He just stopped breathing. _

_The light grew, pouring from the sides, ever widening, cutting harsh, sharp shadows, deepening them, then rushing forth to bleed them away, engulfing the room in brilliance fit to rival the sun, burning their eyes, forcing them to shield them, to close them, strengthening, overwhelming, blinding—a sea of light, unassailable, untouchable, pure and terrible and strong, a living thing, consuming them whole—_

_And then it was gone, swallowed by the gaping maw that released it, and darkness rushed forth in its place. More slowly, the brilliance left their eyes, let them become reacquainted with the dark, and they could see. Then they could see the Door was gone, vanished, but they had forgotten the Door. None of their attention could be spared for it._

_Two figures had taken its place. Two tanned, lithe, simply dressed utterly familiar figures that were neither one so grand as the Door they replaced but infinitely more precious to the ones who occupied the chamber, for the were beings those present had never thought to see again._

_Eyes of fiery crimson and stolid brown stared at them. And they stared right back._

o/o/o/o/o

Something partially jolted Yugi from his slumber, stirring his mind to greater awareness as it sought the culprit, running through a list of possibilities that didn't exist, or if they did, he wasn't aware of. He shifted lightly, frowning in the darkness as he sought an answer, unwilling to move from the comfortable darkness to find it.

When a soft _thud_ sounded, close and familiar though he could not place it, he stirred again, more strongly, slowly, haltingly pushing himself to a sitting position, his arms braced against the firm-soft material he had been laying against, and struggled to open his eyes.

They resisted, fluttering closed against all his attempts to the contrary, the darkness that had cradled him unwilling to release its hold, its intangible hand settled firmly in his mind, pulling it back down to warm oblivion; but he just frowned and tried harder, determined to know what he had heard and why it had woken him. A faint yet high and sharp tinkling gave further impetus to the struggle, and he finally managed to pry open his eyes.

He glanced around, highly disoriented when he didn't see his desk against the wall, nor any of his posters or anything else he knew belonged in his room in sight. Brief, panicked seconds dragged by until he recognized his surroundings and remembered, however vaguely, falling asleep on the couch watching movies. He glimpsed his TV dinner plate turned upside down on the floor. He'd pick it up later.

Wondering what time it was, Yugi shifted further back to claim a seat on his butt instead of his legs and felt more balanced as he attempted to rub sleep from his eyes, a yawn escaping perforce.

Sounds of movement, of another being in the house apart from him, drew his attention, and he listened to the quiet noises coming from the kitchen for a minute more before remembering _why_ he had fallen asleep on the couch. "Yami?" he called sleepily, a yawn stretching and distorting the finally syllable. The sounds stopped.

A figure appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Yugi?" the familiar voice asked, shock and disbelief playing through the deep tone, lilting it. "What are you still doing up?"

He yawned again, and was still too much asleep to filter petulance from his voice or to even think of lying. "Was waiting for you."

"I—" the other started, changed his mind. "Forgive me, Yugi. I didn't think you'd. . . ." Yami trailed off, second-guessing his words again, half-gestured with his hand towards something, something apparently even Yami couldn't grasp, for he just shook his head and flipped off the kitchen light. "Let's just go to bed, shall we?"

Yugi nodded and struggled to get off the couch, making very little headway until Yami came over and grasped his arm, saving him from a fall and pulling him to his feet. Once there, he looked at the clock over the mantle, scowling as he yawned again, but was thwarted by the lack of light. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Late," Yami answered.

Yugi frowned again but was too tired to press the issue, simply yawning again and letting himself be lead. His eyes sank mostly closed as they crossed the living room and couldn't quite be revived when they reached the stairs, doubtless aided in their mutiny by the soul-deep knowledge that Yami would never let him fall. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd say Yami's hand on his arm was putting him to sleep.

He barely noticed as he was helped into bed, the darkness already renewing its claim on his mind, and he fell into the warmth of his bed with a smile, pulling the covers closer when they fell atop him. "G'night, Yami," he murmured.

"Sweet dreams, little one," floated to him as if from a great distance. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed for the last time was three glowing green numbers on his alarm clock.

2:10.

o/o/o/o/o

After Yugi woke just before seven that morning, he couldn't figure out how he ended up in his bed when the last thing he remembered was watching Bourne Supremacy in the living room waiting for Yami to come home. He glanced at the elder teen's closed door as he entered the bathroom but didn't go to it. The other was probably sleeping, especially if he got home late, and the last thing Yugi wanted to do was wake him. He had learned the hard way that Yami was a really light sleeper.

He closed the door softly behind him and turned on the water, stripping quickly while he waited for it to warm. For a moment, he studied himself in the mirror, noting his pale skin, his thin arms, his slender chest and shoulders; his fingers, nimble from years of playing with cards and general gaming, traced his bottom ribs, just visible beneath his flesh, and pulled at the baby fat that still lingered about his stomach.

Most of it had disappeared after the five-inch growth spurt he had last summer; his grandfather had said it was a wonder he was anything but skin and bones after growing so much in so short a time, but he was still almost an inch shorter than Yami. He could not help but compare himself to the Pharaoh and find himself lacking. He may have gotten taller but he still looked hopelessly young, with no muscle definition to speak of and impossible wide violet eyes.

_I'm an eighteen-year old in a thirteen-year old's body_, he noted to himself. _No wonder, really, that Anzu would choose Yami over me. He doesn't look like her kid brother._

Not to mention he looked hot in tight leather.

Yugi frowned at his reflection a moment longer before turning away and climbing into the shower, hissing when the liquid proved hotter than he was expecting. Clenching his teeth, he willed his body to get used to it and just closed his eyes, letting the water flow through his hair and down his chest, his back, silently begging it to wash everything—dirt and troublesome thoughts included—down the drain.

The dirt went with little fuss, especially after soap was thrown into the mix, pulled screaming into the black hole with all the shiny suds, nevermore to be seen. Now, if only he could open his head and let the hot water scour his brain, he would be set. But he couldn't, and he wasn't.

The teen leaned against the tiled wall and let the water fall, let it pound between his shoulder blades, slip in tickly fingers down his chest, his eyes closed. He wanted to relax, wanted to enjoy the feel of the water, wanted it to wash away the tension in his neck and shoulders, but the moment he dropped his guard, his mind traitorously returned to its favorite subject: Yami.

Inscrutable red eyes stared at him from the darkness ahead, unreachable. And he could no more discern what troubled him from those eyes, than his opponents could determine where he had hidden the Dark Magician or if his last card was a bluff. They were remote, half-lidded, nonchalant, and completely confidant. They went with his dueling pose, legs braced, arms loosely crossed, the straight slouch that somehow mixed casual comfort with unflappable poise, and the little smirk that finished everything off, the one that said he owned the world and nothing could take it from him.

Yugi had never been able to manage such confidence for himself, had never been able to claim that certainty which would enable him to face anything without flinching. Yami had always been able to summon it with ease, whether he felt it or not. But it was an image, an image he had long associated with the Spirit of the Puzzle, that had long since been absent from his dearest friend.

It returned, untarnished, whenever their friends were near, but it melted, acquired a sorrow he had never seen before, almost as soon as they were gone, as if his customary arrogance was too difficult to maintain for long.

The two separate images stood side-by-side, two incongruous aspects of the same individual, who suddenly slid together in his mind, the old confidence taking precedence in his stance, the new sorrow standing forth in his eyes. He knew something was wrong, had always been able to tell when Yami was troubled. But with the link, he had also been able to glean a fair idea of what the trouble was, had known what to do; but now. . . .

_Why won't he tell me? We always told each other everything._

He had thought they would be able to talk when Yami got home from his date with Anzu, but he wasn't even sure the former Spirit had come home. It was possible (however the thought tore at his soul) that Yami had chosen to stay with her, perhaps suspecting Yugi would wish to talk and unwilling to do so; it was the kind of direct problem solving the Pharaoh was famous for. The thought opened a hole in hiss heart, piercing it like a knife through his chest.

He gritted his teeth and shook his head. _No. Yami wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't do that to me no matter how badly he wished to avoid something. He wouldn't. . . ._

A wisp of memory swirled before his eyes as if in confirmation of the thought. There was a silhouette, an impression of a hand gripping his arm, guiding him, helping him, the certain knowledge that this Yami, and then nothing. His mind wanted to insist it was from last night, that Yami had come home and helped him to his bed, but uncertainty kept him from belief. What if he was wrong? It would crush him, he felt it.

_He would come home._

Then why won't he say what's bothering him? Why does he hide?

_He's just not ready to talk. He needs time._

. . . Unless. . . . Unless it had something to do with him, with Yugi? He had asked, yes, and Yami had told him that he hadn't done anything wrong . . . but that wasn't what he had asked, not exactly. Whatever else had changed between them, he still believed Yami wouldn't lie to him, but would he avoid the truth? He felt he would, in the name of trying to protect him. But what did that mean? Where did that leave him?

Had he done something, if not wrong, then not quite right? Had he failed to do something? Was it something Yami had expected him to do? Or something Yami had done and he hadn't reacted the right way? But what could it be? Which was the right one and how was he to find out?

How was he to find out what troubled his best friend and former other self? It was a puzzle he couldn't even begin to fathom how to solve. If Yami wouldn't talk to him. . . .

. . . maybe he would talk to Anzu? She had always been a good listener, always had good advice. And she had helped before, maybe not in the way he had thought she would, but Yami had told him he was glad he had gotten to spend that time with her, that it had helped him.

But maybe that wasn't for the reason he had thought it was. He had known for a long time that Anzu had a crush on Yami; maybe he had realized he had a crush on her, too, and that was how that had helped. He doubted it, but they were going out now.

Yugi pushed away from the wall, physically recoiling from the thought, and flailed as he flinched away from the hot water that splashed into his face, body tingling as he almost fell. His hand clenched around the towel rack at the back, the other finding the wall. He shivered despite the heat and turned off the water. His shower had lost its appeal; he needed something to do, something that would distract him, would keep him from thinking.

They hadn't made any plans today. The two of them could just stay home, not go anywhere, maybe find something to do amid the mountains of toys in his room, and talk. About anything. And everything would be fine.

He clung to that determination as dried off quickly and haphazardly and all but fled the bathroom. Dressing consisted of throwing on the first things that met his hands when he reached into his drawers, resulting in a shirt three sizes too big that had started its life a vibrant red and a pair of jeans that would probably fall off him completely with a good tug. They made him look even more like a ragamuffin child, and he almost took them off, objecting to Yami even possibly seeing him dressed like a runaway.

The impulse faded before he could act on it, pushed away by an uncharacteristic bitterness (who was he trying to impress, anyway? Yami hardly spared him a glance lately, preferring to hide in his room), and he walked quickly out of his room.

He stopped, however, when he reached the other's room, some of his musings from the bathroom swirling back into his thoughts. Frustrated though he was, he still worried, and he _had_ to know that the once-Spirit had made it home okay last night. He would never be able to forgive himself if the other had gotten hurt and he didn't know, was too busy being angry and hurt to notice. Fear clenched his heart as he pushed open the door slowly, just enough to see inside.

It disappeared quicker than it had come upon finding Yami sound asleep in his bed, sprawled across his covers in the same outfit he had left the shop in yesterday afternoon, his breathing easy and slow. The half-memory of Yami helping him to bed flashed again through his mind, and some of the tension that had coiled within him eased.

A small smile curled his lips as he very carefully closed the Pharaoh's door, taking great care not to make a sound. Yami wasn't as prone to fits of temper as Bakura was, but there were no guarantees when his sleep was interrupted, especially if he was tired. He padded downstairs to the living room.

o/o/o/o/o

_Atemu tenderly brushed some of Yugi's bangs from his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then he pulled back and just watched him for a moment, reaffirming the peace he had observed earlier on the young face. Too long had the little one's rest been broken by terror for him to easily forget Yugi's distress, especially since he knew part of it was because of him. He brushed the bangs back again, though there was no need, and quietly left the room._

_The roof called his wandering feet, the stars called his heart, as they had the last three nights once he was certain Yugi would sleep peacefully through the morning light. He could not ask for a better vantage throughout the whole of the city. The sandstone hotel was the tallest building far as the naked eye could see, commanding a wide view of the deserts that had once been his home. _

_It was a truly breathtaking sight, but one he was sure to enjoy alone due to the lateness of the hour and the chill of the Egyptian night. And he preferred it that way, had taken great pains to ensure it might be so, for only alone was he granted the freedom to deal with his troubles, his fears, and the opportunity to rebuild the control he needed to navigate the day. The night that had been his bane, his enforced existence, had since become his haven._

_The last five thousand millennia had apparently done little to dull the gods' sense of humor. He had been willing to swear, once, that they loved making his life difficult._

"_Atemu?"_

_He closed his eyes. The definition of alone, he noted dryly, has apparently changed since I was reborn. He almost grimaced at how awkward his name sounded rolling off the girl's tongue, like she had to consciously remind herself not to call himself something else and almost failed even after she had done so._

_When he opened his eyes, the mask of the Pharaoh was back in place. "Anzu," he acknowledged calmly. "Should you not be sleeping?"_

_He could hear a smile in her reply. "I was going to ask you the same thing."_

_There was an invitation in that, to bare his soul and reveal the thoughts that drove him to seek such bleak solitude, to brave the icy winds of the desert night. It was a tempting offer, but one he knew belonged to another before this girl._

_He didn't turn, though he felt her gentle eyes on his back. He spoke to the night. "I've always enjoyed watching the stars."_

"_They're beautiful," Anzu agreed as she stepped forward to stand at his elbow; he could see her profile out of the corner of his eye. He thought he heard another word in her tone, one she would have preferred. _Romantic.

_He did not deign to answer, occupying himself instead with the landscape that stretched endlessly around them, curtailed only by the limits of their physical selves. His imagination and memory filled in many of the blanks. He wondered, idly, how different some of the places he remembered were._

_She turned to look at him, blue eyes bright, concerned. "Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do to help? We're your friends too, remember." He felt her hand on his arm and was not immune to its comfort._

"_Nothing's wrong," he answered, reasoning with his heart that he did not lie. He chose to overlook that it was the same sort of not-lie he had on occasion chastised Yugi for. In an effort to make his statement more believable he added, "Some habits are simply not so easy to break as we might wish."_

_And others, he continued silently, are not so simple to revive as one might hope. He wondered, if he were still Pharaoh, if he would have avoided the declaration his heart so desired to make. His memories suggested no, but though the man who had commanded armies was the same as himself, he could not recapture the confidence to simply declare his desires. Because he was Pharaoh no longer, and none of the beings around him were his subjects, bound to obey him._

_He wondered, idly, if they were still in Ancient Egypt, if he would have cared whether or not the one he loved felt the same, or if he were compelled to do so because of his station. He suspected the answer was not. Would he even have bothered to fall in love?_

_But he knew the answer to that one, and he wished he did not. It cast a new shadow of doubt upon his intentions and made him wish (not for the first time) that he had never rediscovered his past. Then he could have pursued his intentions as the man he had become instead of with the constant weight of the man he had been holding him back. Now, he simply could not escape the suspicion that the one he loved deserved someone better than him._

_Anzu's hand squeezed his arm, drawing him from the distance landscape and the ever wider range of his memories. Involuntarily, he looked at her. "Are you sure?"_

"_I'm sure," he replied, a soft smile easing his countenance. "Now seek you rest, Anzu. It is late, and tomorrow will bring Ra back to the sky too early for your liking."_

o/o/o/o/o

Yugi tried to brush his hair out of his face, but the blond strands stubbornly flopped back down. He had tried tucking them behind his ears, even, but that hadn't worked either. They had simply worked themselves free when he moved and dangled tauntingly before his face.

Balanced on his hands and his knees, with a sponge clenched in his right hand, he scrubbed hard at the yellow and brown stain left by last night's dinner. He had been working on it for more than thirty minutes and was frustrated that he hadn't seen much change. His knees hurt, his hand was cramped, his shoulder (the one his weight was balanced upon while he scrubbed) felt compressed, and his back ached. And still the stain wouldn't come up!

It was settled—he was never eating a TV dinner again. Ever. If the stuff clung this tenaciously to the caret, what did it do to his insides?

He scowled, the expression not nearly as menacing on him as he would have wished, and attacked the carpet once more, scrubbing furiously, sharply, back and forth, for several moments until his strength gave out; the boy slumping against the couch and throwing up his arms in exasperation. And still the stain stood there, mocking.

He glowered at it where he sat, elbow braced atop the couch seat and head braced against his hand. The plate was already in the garbage, the tray washed (rinsed, really) and put away; the TV was off, the movies once again stacked and neatly put away. Everything was good, clean, as-it-should-be—except for this lousy stain of cheese sauce and meat sauce. Maybe he just simply hadn't taken strong enough action? He jumped to his feet.

_Brrriiiiiiiinnnggg._

Yugi had jumped onto the couch even before the sound registered in his mind and had made the leap to go over the back before the sound stopped, his footing and balance unchecked; thus, the cushion slipped, propelled partially off the couch to tip to the floor, and he didn't get the height he expected—needed—to clear the back. His feet caught and he fell headfirst towards the floor. One hand snatched desperately for the couch, catching, and the other swung forth to protect his head. His feet, however, swung down with the full force of his momentum. He hissed in pain, released the couch, and half fell, half crawled to the phone.

Reaching it, he snatched it from its cradle just as it eeped out the beginning of the second ring and put it to his ear, his relief at having gotten to it before (hopefully) it could wake Yami not quite strong enough to erase the pain in his foot from its abrupt meeting with the floor. He held his breath against the curses that wished to fly out, and forced an almost normal "Hello? Mutou residence" past clenched teeth.

"Eh, Yug'?" was the uncertain answer. He supposed he didn't sound quite like himself. But—

"Joey?" he asked, scarcely believing his ears. His eyes darted instinctively to the clock, what he knew about the time and what he knew about Joey disturbing his reality. But while the clock hands indicated it was slightly later than he thought (9:44), it wasn't sufficiently late enough, to his mind and experience, to be hearing from Joey on a no-school no-work no-previous-plan day. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you okay?" He pushed himself to his feet, using the wall as a brace.

"Heh, what? 'Course I'm okay! I can take care o' myself, ya know!"

"I know, Joey," he assured quickly, making a placating gesture despite the fact there was no one there to see it.

"Eh, right, I knew dat. So anyway, was thinking, you know, 'bout everything that's happened, and it kinda occurred to me that it's been a while since we've done anything together. Just the gang, ya know?"

He smiled at his friend, twisting his fingers idly in the phone cord. "Yeah, I know," he said. "Ryou said the same thing yesterday." _Just before Bakura stormed out and Yami told me he had a date with Anzu._ His eyes went to the stairs against his will, yet he still half wished Yami would suddenly appear at the bottom of them. He turned his back to them as Joey started speaking again.

"Yeah, well, I sorta ran into him and Bakura yesterday. Sorta what reminded me we hadn't seen everyone in awhile. So I did some callin'. You and Yami up for meeting us at the arcade 'bout noon? We'll all have lunch together and hang out, just like old times. Whadaya say, huh buddy?"

"Well—"

"Can I count on ya? Please?"

"Well, I—"

"Say yes. Come on, Yug'! Say yes!"

"Easy, Joey!" he called, laughing and grimacing at the same time, his heart sinking as he uttered his doom. "I'll come. I don't know about Yami, though. He was out late last night and might not be up to it." _Or he might've made more plans he forgot to tell me about._ He grimaced at the thought.

"Great! I'll see ya den, a'right?"

"Alright, Joey. See you." He didn't feel nearly as happy as he thought he should as he hung up the phone, a day at the Arcade with his friends all he could have wished for a few short years ago. A sigh slipped his lips and violet eyes wandered to the clock.

Ten. That was late enough to start breakfast, right?

"What'd Joey want?"

Yugi whirled in surprise, a small cry escaping him at the unexpected voice. "Yami!"

Yami stood on the bottom step, half-braced against the rail, still wearing the leather ensemble he had glimpsed earlier. His crimson eyes were bleary beneath heavy lids, and his hair look like had had run his hands through it a couple times without noticing. The elder blinked at him sleepily and swayed on the spot, despite his grip on the banister.

A couple weeks ago—heck, even two days ago—Yugi would've darted to the other's side and wrapped his arm around his waist to help him to the couch. Now, though, he didn't quite dare. He shifted uncomfortably, uncertain what to do. "I'm sorry I woke you," he said.

But Yami shook his head, his eyes slipping closed, and he stepped down into the living room, wavering enough that Yugi feared he would fall. "You didn't," the elder assured as he stumbled (somehow gracefully) to the couch and dropped into it bonelessly, half-sprawling, his head tilted back. Then he went still. Yugi thought he had fallen asleep and wanted to get closer, would have leaned over the back of the couch near Yami's head, but his feet wouldn't move.

"So?"

"What?" Yugi started, his head snapping up. One crimson eye slitted open to peer at him.

"What did Joey want?"

"Oh! He, uh—" Yugi scratched the back of his head and grinned sheepishly. "He wanted to know if we wanted to go to the Arcade."

"Mmm," the Pharaoh responded. Yugi wasn't sure what that meant but the other didn't seem inclined to elucidate.

He shuffled closer to the kitchen, looked between it and the boy on the couch. Both Yami's eyes were firmly closed again; Yugi wondered if he had fallen back asleep.

"Um, how about I make breakfast?"

The only answer was another noncommittal grunt. This, he decided to take as a yes and faded back into the kitchen. He pulled the eggs and cheese from the refrigerator; then he got down a bowl. He busied himself with scrambling eggs and prepping the stove. He was peripherally aware of Yami watching him from the doorway as he poured the whipped egg yolks into the battered pan. They sizzled on contact.

Ignoring them for a moment, he took the bowl and fork to the sink, pulled out two plates and set them down near the stove, then picked up two peaches. He put two pieces of bread in the toaster before taking a minute to slice one of the peaches. He glanced at Yami as he returned attention to the eggs. The other still looked half asleep.

"Late night?" he asked.

Yami looked at him quickly then returned his gaze to the juncture of counter and floor past Yugi. He rubbed his face wearily. "Yes."

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

He saw Yami shrug. "Stuff."

Apparently, so complicated a response as multiple-word answers were beyond him this morning, though he had managed a three word question just a few minutes ago. "You can go back to bed if you're still tired," he offered, feeling compelled to do so, but the Pharaoh just shook his head, and walked fully into the kitchen as if to prove he wasn't, continuing all the way to the table on unstable legs.

The toast popped up while he was divvying the eggs. He plucked them both from the slightly battered contraption and buttered them quickly and lightly before setting them on one of the plates. The cut peaches followed, and he carried the plate (and a fork) to Yami. "Would you like anything else?"

Again, the former Spirit just shook his head.

"Some milk or orange juice?" he persisted.

Red eyes darted briefly to Yugi's face. "Milk," Yami murmured after a beat. Briefly amused, Yugi suspected it was chosen because it was only one word and not two. He got the drink quickly.

It was another few minutes before Yugi had assembled his own breakfast and carried it to the table. In that time, the Pharaoh had worked his way through a single piece of toast and was nibbling half-heartedly on the second. Yugi eyed the untouched portions, then raised his eyes to the other's face. Judging by his expression, he half-suspected he could have danced naked through the kitchen without the elder noticing.

He bit into his own toast. "It's not poisoned, you know," he said.

"What?"

"The food." Yugi gestured to the plate and Yami's gaze followed. "It's safe to eat. I promise."

A wan smile answered him and the other obliged by taking a bite of egg. Almost immediately that distracted, distant look reappeared, as if he was watching a sad movie only he could see.

Yugi frowned. "Are you sure you had fun last night?"

"Huh?" Yami started, proving he had spent far too much time around Joey. His eyes focused briefly on violet, then shied away as if burned. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"What's wrong, then?" Yugi watched him push the egg around his plate.

The Pharaoh shook his head. "Nothing."

The shorter boy froze, watching as the other started eating determinedly, shoveling the food as quickly as he could without completely abandoning his dignity; it was the fastest he had ever seen Yami eat, and that included the Pharaoh's first meal after becoming human again. Yugi recognized it for what it was: a sign that the elder didn't want to talk any more.

He dropped his gaze as he felt tears prick his eyes, determined not to let them fall. He had hoped. . . . But apparently that wasn't enough. He pushed the contents of his plate around, then speared a strawberry to eat. It dropped back to the plate before it could reach his lips. He just wasn't hungry any more.

He stood. "Would you like some strawberries, Yami?" He didn't wait for the other's response before pushing the fruit onto his plate. He scraped the rest into the garbage and put the plate in the sink.

"Yugi?"

He froze again, a deer caught in the headlights, then turned with a smile, a bounce, pretending everything was as fine as Yami kept insisting. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

His smile widened at the question. "Of course. Um, so you never really answered if you wanted to go to the Arcade or not."

"I would," he answered, his gaze sharp, finally fully awake and aware. "Unless you'd like to do something else?"

Yugi felt his smile crack and shook his head quickly. "No. No, this'll be fun. Um, we're meeting the gang at noon, kay?" He barely registered Yami's acknowledgment. "So, I'm gonna go get ready, kay."

He darted out of the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs before his control broke and the first tears slipped down his cheeks, but he didn't cry. Within the safety of his locked room, he slid to the floor, his back braced against the wall. It wasn't fair; it just wasn't fair.

He'd lost track of time when he heard footsteps approach. They stopped right outside his door and he tensed, held his breath. Part of him wished Yami would just go away and leave him alone to wallow in his misery as chose. The other part hoped he would knock on the door, insist he be let in, and not leave him alone until they had worked everything out and things could go back to how they were.

But Yami didn't know, and he didn't insist. And after a moment, the footsteps retreated to the bathroom. The door closed and a minute later the water turned on. Yugi released the breath he'd been holding in a sigh. He was foolish to hope.

o/o/o/o

o

o/o/o/o

Okay, two questions. And I can't write the next chapter until you answer them. First one:

Do you want Seto to be at the arcade? With or without Mokuba?

Second:

Do you want Joey to be with Mai? Seto? Or Mai flirting with Seto (which isn't exactly what I mean, but you understand, right)? No guarantees this one'll go anywhere but I have to ask in case it comes up.

Quickly, quickly! The longer I have to worry over the Arcade, the more I might decide this isn't worth it. It's been ages since I last went to an arcade! Game ideas would be wonderful if there are any gamers out there. Favorite games, whatever. Bye now!


	5. Chapter 5

Hm. Where to begin? …Alright. I'd like to thank everyone who voted. I'm truly awed at the number of you who responded; I didn't think I'd get five. That said, you will not see the fruits of your labor this chapter. What I had intended to write and what you get are, in this instance, two entirely different things. Please bear with me.

Second…I have just started a new semester at college. I'm taking a Spanish class, two 4000 level Lit classes (for those of you who may not know, those are the advanced ones for juniors and seniors) with lots of reading and papers, and an articles and essays writing class which is proving (in the one day I've had it) to be far more annoying than my fiction class last semester. What that rather long spiel means is that I probably won't have a lot of time to indulge myself. I have absolutely no idea when they next update might be. This, incidentally, is why I promised myself before I started writing Yu-Gi-Oh that I wouldn't post any works-in-progress. Best laid plans gone to waste.

Still, it's fairly long, at 18 pages. I hope that makes up some for the long delay. Ideas, funny thoughts, quirks, likes, dislikes…share with me. I foresee very little joy this semester. And the more you review, the more obligated I feel to update. I'm basically telling you to guilt-trip me, and a little nudge now and then, when the wait gets long, never hurts.

Now, sit back and marvel at how very bad this chapter is.

(Oh! And Happy New Year, everyone!)

**Chapter 5**

Yugi frowned as his last Pac-Man contacted a red monster and spun in place before it, the monsters, and maze were wiped from the screen, leaving it black. Bold red letters proclaiming GAME OVER flashed twice before his eyes and then the high scores scrolled up the screen and the youth sighed. His hand slipped from the joystick. Kaiba would have a field day with this, if he could see it.

The familiar KAI identifying the young CEO stared at him from the top of the list, a spot short of number one; but it wasn't those letters which drew his gaze, nor those which hurt. It was the ones above it, the ones that held that top spot: YYM. Yugi and Yami Mutou. How long ago was it they worked their way through all the games in the Arcade together? It seemed like forever ago.

The short teenager stepped back from the game console and looked around—for his friends, he told himself, but it was Yami he wanted to see, to find out if he remembered, too—if it seemed just as long ago to him.

_Probably. Anzu wasn't around for that._

It had been shortly after Duelist Kingdom—after Rebecca came seeking the fourth Blue Eyes and Duke challenged him to a game of Dungeon Dice Monsters—but before Battle City. They hadn't been truly aware of each other long, hadn't had the opportunity to talk much yet—and Yami had been so quiet, so worried and withdrawn, though he hadn't wanted his other to know, had tried to hide it and pretend. . . .

Joey had suggested—had practically dragged him to the Arcade before telling him why, and when he had . . . Yugi had balked. Kaiba was the one who obsessed about being the best at everything, and as far as he had been concerned it could remain that way, with the only thing he had taken away the Duel Monsters title. But the challenge (and it had been a challenge) of knocking the pretentious millionaire from his high-horse had piqued the spirit's interest, games and Kaiba being the only two sure things to do so—and here, combined. So he agreed, the chance to pull his darker half away from his brooding silence to tempting to ignore even at the risk of the Kaiba's wrath.

But with a stipulation: namely, that they would do it together and that both of their names would appear on the scoreboards. He had been adamant, and Yami had acquiesced easily with an "as you wish, Aibou"—but Yugi thought he had been pleased by the gesture, the inclusion. He wondered if the darkling still was, or if their harrowing adventures had erased the quiet battle with nothing but pride and fun on the line. As he recalled, that had been the last time in the past three years that they had actually played without dire consequences hinging on the outcome. He'd really like to do it again. . . .

Perhaps they could. All he would have to do was ask. The worst he could do was say no, right? He could even ask him, just as soon as he found him—and who knew? Maybe it would help with . . . whatever was wrong with them. It had helped last time, or he thought it had. Talking with Anzu might have helped more, but maybe. . . .

Yugi stopped dead as he finally glimpsed his tanned look-alike through the throng of students who warmed the building; he was near Anzu, watching her, a small smirk on his lips. He should have known he would find them at DDR. Anzu didn't really have any interest in playing computer games (she could, if she wanted), after all, but she love to dance. And she was good. Yugi had known that without ever needed to see her perform.

He watched her now and could easily see why Yami hadn't taken his eyes off her slender, flowing body. She held such grace and power within her limbs, so delicate, the kind Yugi could only dream of. She was poised and elegant and carefree—her heard held high, shoulders thrown back, straight and curved, rolling with the music, spinning and perfect, with a light sheen of sweat setting her skin aglow, her cheeks flushed from exertion, a beautiful smile on her face and her crystal blue eyes sparkling with joy; she had never looked more beautiful. It was no wonder so many of the attentive crowd were male. They followed her every move, but she had eyes only for Yami and wrapped her arms around him the moment the dance was over, herself the victor.

Yugi watched his other wrap his arms around her and press a kiss to her temple. His smirk held a possessive edge that dared another to mess with her. None took up the challenge. And Yugi had to look away as he pulled her into another, deeper celebratory kiss.

He turned around and walked in the opposite direction. Happy as he was his friends had found each other, he couldn't bear to see them together. Something in his gut twisted sharply, painfully, at every intimate gesture they exchanged. He thought he knew why—but he had always known Anzu would never be his, crush or no, so why should this bother him?

Because they looked so much alike, him and Yami? But no, he knew Anzu wasn't that shallow. He knew from personal experience that there was a lot more to like about Yami than just his looks. She was lucky to have him, so strong and confident and brilliant, and she would be good for him. He just knew it.

Biting his bottom lip against the tears that had inexplicably stung his eyes, Yugi hurried past Joey and Tristan obliviously playing Street Fighter, standing side-by-side, moving quickly to he back where the restrooms were. His throat burned with the effort of holding back his sobs. His breath came in jerky gasps, all but choking on them as they tried to pass his throat. What was wrong with him? What was _wrong_. . . ?

_What's wrong with me? This is the third time in two days!_

No answers came to him as he finally reached his destination and shoved through the wooden door which closed behind him. He stumbled against one of the sinks and held onto the sides with desperate strength; his legs trembled beneath him, threatened to give way, and a few tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. He stared down into the white ceramic sink, down into the drain that disappeared into shadow. . . .

Hand shaking, he pried it from the ledge to twist on the cold water. It gushed out in a staticky flood, whitish clear, and he watched it vanish after whirling around the dark hole that lead beyond his sight, a never-ending stream into a black void. He struggled to bring his breathing back to some semblance of normalcy. The cold water helped; once he was confident enough his legs weren't going to collapse the second he released his death grip on the sink and cupped his hands beneath the flow.

It was cold, shocking, and he gasped as the liquid hit his heated cheeks. The crushing pressure building in his chest lessened, loosened, and he splashed his face until the skin was numb and it practically streamed from his nose and chin. His mind was clear as he reopened his eyes, the drain still their focus; he almost felt normal—if that jittery panic—or whatever it was he had felt, didn't still jangle in his legs and hands, trying to tremble him to the ground.

"Yugi?"

He whirled at the sound of the soft, accented voice, eyes wide, face rigid, his wet bangs swinging around and pasting themselves to the sides of his face. "R-ryou?" he gasped.

"Are you alright?" the gentle albino pressed further, moving fully into the bathroom so the door could close behind him. "What happened?"

The other couldn't find his voice so he shook his head. Ryou frowned at him, and he closed his eyes then slowly slid to the floor, pulling his knees close to his chest the moment he was no longer falling. He stared at the far wall, view interrupted by a urinal but he didn't care. He wasn't really looking at the wall, either.

Ryou stared at him. "Did anyone hurt you?" Again, the other shook his head. This time, the albino grabbed some paper towels and sat down in front of him. He held them out. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Yugi shook his head and took one, shredding it instead of drying his face. "There's nothing to talk about," he croaked. "I don't know what happened. I just . . . just lost it. I don't know why."

"Would you like me to go get Yami?" Ryou asked after a moment, at a loss.

Another headshake answered him. Yugi kept his eyes on the small brownish tiles that made up the floor. "There's no need to bother him about this."

"I suspect he might disagree."

The spike-haired duelist smiled a little, the expression sad. "I don't want him to see me like this," he whispered. "He'd just worry and there's nothing he can do. I'm just being silly. And I'm better now, anyway. I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Deep brown eyes studied him closely.

"Yeah. Yea, I'm sure. But I think I'd like to go home now."

Ryou nodded, but Yugi had known him long enough to know he wasn't convinced. "Would you like me to go with you? I don't mind."

He thought about it, then shook his head. "No, I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah." He grabbed the rest of the paper towels and dried his face to prove it. Grabbing blindly at the sink behind and above his head, he hauled himself to his feet. His friend rose with him, half-hovering in case he fell. But Yugi regained his balance easily and smiled at the other. "Thanks, Ryou."

"No problem, Yugi," he said. "I'm glad to help. You're sure you're okay, though?"

"Yes!" Yugi exclaimed with a more genuine smile. "You worry too much, Ryou!"

Said boy just smiled, a hint of sorrow behind his soft brown eyes, and Yugi thought he knew what his friend would have said if he'd let himself. He smiled back without comment and threw the paper towels away before they left the bathroom together. Bakura was waiting just outside the door.

"Well?"

"Yugi's not feeling well," Ryou answered for his friend, "so he's just gonna go home."

Dark, discerning eyes studied the violet-eyed boy, earning a grunt. "Get the hell outta here, then."

The two boys watched as the thief turned and stalked away without waiting for a response. Yugi cocked his head after him. "That was weird."

"Very," Ryou agreed. "I wish I knew what was up."

"Me, too." Yugi sighed. "See you later, Ryou." He took a few small steps toward the door.

"Be careful, Yugi. I'll tell the other's where you went."

"Thanks." He nodded and smiled at his friend gratefully, then wove his way through the crowd to the exit. A flash of familiar-looking black hair made him stop before he reached it; but whoever it had been was gone by the time he turned to look. Brushing it aside with a shrug, he slipped through the door and began walking home. A walk that promised to be just as silent as the one here before him, only he wouldn't have to watch Yami and Anzu cling to each other the second their eyes met after he arrived.

He frowned. _**Why** does this bug me so much? I **wanted** them together. **I** was the one who set up their first date, for Pete's sake! I got what I want!_

The discontent that wound through him put the lie to his words, but the voice he was half expecting to speak up out of nowhere never materialized to contradict him. Probably because there was nothing to contradict. He _had_ wanted them happy and together. So why wasn't he happy?

_Because Yami's not happy. And he won't tell me what's bothering him._

Yugi sighed, agitated by the repetition of his own thoughts. _I hate walking in circles_. He looked up at the clear cloudless blue sky, idly trying to decide what shade he saw to distract himself, and noted darkly that it should be raining.

o/o/o/o/o

The Game Shop door was a beacon as he crossed the street to his home. It was no shining light or precious jewel, just a simple piece of wood painted green, but Yugi felt some of his tension ease as he approached it—for once content in the knowledge that he was the only one home.

He twisted the key in the lock before turning to the mailbox beside the door and parking inside, going up on his tiptoes a little to accomplish it; he snaked his hand to grab the envelopes he found then retrieved his key, opened the door and stepped inside. The little bell in the top left-hand corner jingled happily as he closed it again and locked it. He didn't bother turning on any of the lights as he crossed to the back of the shop, glancing around to ensure everything was in place more from habit than any real interest.

He plodded up the short stair to the house with deliberate steps, eyes focused on each as he ascended. When he reached the top, he moved immediately to the kitchen. He hung his keys on the hook just inside the doorway then leaned against the counter to flip through the envelopes still clutched in his hand. _Junk . . . bill . . . bill . . . junk . . . junk. . . ._

The boy frowned and spread the envelopes so he could see the names on the front and rolled his eyes at the name he found on the junk mail. A quick glance at the remaining three envelopes revealed two of them to be more junk mail—specifically, credit card offers, for him. _Only just eighteen and already they want to get me into debt._ He snorted.

The bills he set aside on the counter for Grandpa to find when he got home. The would-be credit cards he carried upstairs and dropped on his desk to be shredded later. Then he flopped down on his bed, belly up, arms spread wide, and stared at the ceiling. Unfortunately, white popcorn wasn't all that interesting to look at.

The bumps couldn't be counted—there were too many too randomly spread to have any hope of keeping one's place. There were no discernible patters. He supposed it could be treated like star-gazing, but the plaster lumps weren't as pretty to look at and no "constellations" jumped out at him. It was a task (finding pictures in ceilings) that required at least a little interest and concentration, and Yugi currently held too little claim to the former to keep his thoughts from drifting back to the Arcade, to Yami and Anzu and . . . him.

"What's wrong with me?" Yugi asked the room at large. Perhaps, by some miracle, voicing the question would prompt one of his many inanimate objects to answer his question. None did. He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow. The plush fabric blocked out the light, squished his nose, and muffled the aggravated, wordless yell he loosed into its depths. Then he fell still and silent. And after a moment he lifted his head. Crossing his arms beneath the cushion, he propped his chin on top, now staring at the wall beyond his headboard.

It was also even less interesting to look at than the ceiling, though it was at least a different color than white. He was close enough to see the odd wave-like ripples that textured the wall, but he wasn't looking at them; the little swells blurred before his eyes and fell away, unimportant.

Instead, he saw the look Yami gave him when they left: would-be neutral, crimson eyes dark and soft, a slight crease between his eyes in an almost-frown. And something else . . . some sorrow that could only be seen through the eyes, and only if one looked deep enough. Yugi had thought nothing of it when it happened; but now he wondered. What had his darkness been thinking when he looked at him like that? Had he felt guilty? Regretful? And why had he not said anything? It wasn't like there hadn't been any time. And yet. . . .

But he was tired of making the first move, of instigating conversations when he was told the same lie, over and over. Why couldn't Yami talk to him?

He saw Anzu wrap her arms around his other's neck, full lips forming words and curving into a bright smile at the response; saw her welcomed into Yami's arms; saw a kiss shared between them, lingering and sweet; saw Yami's arms wrapped casually around her waist as they walked; saw her all but sitting in his lap while they ate—seven crammed into a booth built for four at Burger Palooza; saw their fingers laced as they lead each other around the Arcade.

Each image seemed to drill a hole in his heart.

Had Yami told Anzu? He was at ease with here. Did she know? Or had she not asked, that tension never introduced to their relationship, never forced to endure what he did now? He scowled at the thought, not quite sure which part displeased him.

_What is so bad you feel you must hide it from me, my dark?_

A sound reached his ears then, and Yugi quickly pushed himself up, braced by his hands, half twisted toward the door. He froze just as suddenly as he'd moved, head cocked to listen. Had he imagined it, that soft thud? There was no one else in the house; had someone broken in?

A minute ticked by. When the sound did not repeat and no others reached his ears, he relaxed, settling back down on one elbow, twisted onto his side. He dismissed it as one of the random noises older houses something made. It wasn't the first, after all, he just wasn't used to hearing them during the day when other noises where around to obscure them. His eyes landed on his dresser.

_What it I just let it go? Pretend nothing's wrong? Would it get better then? Would he eventually tell me?_ Yugi couldn't figure an answer, his mind and heart pulling him in different directions—_Would I be able to wait?_ _But asking hasn't helped. What else is there to do?_

The wrought iron handles on his dresser didn't answer, simply stared back at him impassively. He huffed, unimpressed, and then flopped back onto his back. The ceiling greeted him, staring down at him in bland cheer.

Yugi frowned. "You're not all that much help, you know," he told it bitterly.

"Yugi?"

Said boy suddenly shot up, eyes wide. "Yami!"

The Egyptian stood in the doorway, one hand gripping the door frame while he leaned his shoulder against it, his body outside but his head poked in. The position struck him as off, somehow, but the thought was dismissed as soon as it formed, the greater part of his attention caught by the soft look of concern that darkened blood red orbs, similar to the one he had seen earlier but deeper.

"Are you alright, Aibou?"

Yugi stared. He barely heard the nickname he had longed for two nights previously, his jaw slack and his eyes wide; his mind had shut down, unable to comprehend how Yami was here when he should have been at the Arcade with Anzu.

Yami frowned and his eyes darkened further. "Yugi?" he repeated.

The boy started, jaw snapping closed with an audible click. "Wha—fine. Fine, Yami. I'm fine. What are you doing here?" A frown wrinkled his brow.

The elder teenager had taken a couple steps into the room when his partner didn't answer, but now he retreated again, leaning his back against the wooden jamb. "I—Ryou said you left. That you didn't feel well."

Yugi blinked. "You didn't have to leave just because I did."

"I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"You could have called," he pointed out.

Yami glanced swiftly down the hallway and shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "I don't . . . like . . . the telephone." Then crimson eyes snapped to violet, intent and penetrating. It made Yugi feel like he was suddenly stripped bare of skin, his entire being bared before his other half. "You're sure you're well?"

"Sure." He cursed silently when the declaration didn't sound as confident as he had intended. "I'm just a little tired, is all," he added, to make it more believable. But he got the feeling Yami didn't believe him.

The gaze never wavered, though the Egyptian's expression seemed to settle, to harden. His tone, when he spoke, was unreadable, the cadence casual, almost offhand. Except Yugi knew better.

"Bakura said you looked upset."

The boy wasn't sure what to be more off-put by—the fact Bakura had actually spoken the truth to Yami in regards to him (so far as he knew, it was a first), or the fact that Yami was also apparently perfectly prepared to believe him. He blinked, frowning uncomfortably, and shifted further back on his bed. "You listen to Bakura?"

"He has been known to speak the truth, on occasion," Yami answered, his eyes sliding away to gaze distantly through his wall . . . remembering? Yugi wished he dared ask what.

"Well, what makes you think this occasion is one of those?"

The crimson orbs refocused on his face. "It would be a painful truth," the darkling answered slowly. "And you have not denied it."

Yugi grimaced. No he hadn't, but he knew as well as Yami did that he couldn't lie to save his life so denying it wouldn't have done any good—not that this tactic had proved fruitful. He kept his eyes focused on the comforter beneath him. "It was nothing. Just me being silly. I don't even know what upset me, and I'm better now. I'm alright."

He looked up and smiled when Yami didn't respond. "I'm okay. Really. You can go back to the Arcade, now. I know Anzu's missing you."

For a long minute Yami's expression didn't change, his crimson eyes opaque and expressionless as he gazed at the other, arms crossed before his chest. Then he sighed and dropped his arms to his side, shifted away from the wall, and stared at Yugi's dresser. "I don't want to leave you alone, Yugi."

That thought that something was off about Yami resurfaced in his mind, but he pushed it aside and shook his head. "You don't need to worry about me, Yami," he said. "I'm perfectly. I've been on my own before and I can take care of myself."

"Yes. I know."

Yugi cocked his head at the short response. He had expected some quip—a tease or taunt or wry observation. Something other than a flat agreement. And he couldn't see his other's eyes. A slight frown pinched his brow. "Is something wrong?"

Yami opened and closed his mouth three times but no words made it past his lips. That worried Yugi, for he could count the instances the Pharaoh had been rendered speechless on one hand and still have fingers enough to do any number things. He scooted off the bed and stood before it, hands twining restlessly before him.

"Yami?"

"I—No, noth—I mean. You're sure you are well?"

"Yes," Yugi replied. "Are you well?"

"I . . . no. No," he repeated, shaking his head and leaning back against the wall. "I'm not." His eyes, when they refocused, settled on the wall above Yugi's desk—or rather, settled on the Dark Magician poster that hung there.

It showed the mage in the midst of an attack, staff thrust forward and dominant in the image, colors polarized to an odd, almost florescent hue. Only the sharp, judging aquamarine eyes were untouched, and they immediately drew the eye, like they were staring into one's soul. When Grandpa had seen it, he had named it a distraction; Joey had proclaimed it "trippy." Yugi had always been calmed by the sure gaze of his favorite Duel Monster—Yami had never offered an opinion one way or the other.

And his expression gave away none now. Yugi took two quick steps forward before catching himself. "What's wrong?" he asked, rather startled that the former spirit had admitted to ailment; he had expected a declaration of "fine" and the discussion to close.

"I . . ." Yami started and glanced fleetingly in Yugi's direction. "It's nothing," he amended, straightening as if from a dream; his eyes darted everywhere except the boy's own. "I'll just . . . leave you to your peace. . . ." The former spirit peeked over his shoulder at his partner before leaving and froze in the doorway.

Yugi just stared at him. His mind churned with shock and hurt and betrayal and aggravation and more—he wasn't sure which made it upon his face, but he made no effort to change it, demanded, "Do you think so little of me?"

"Yugi. . . ."

"You said we were friends. You said we would always be friends, no matter what—that that hadn't changed just because you got a body of your own. But friends talk to each other, Yami." He swallowed against the tears that tried to resurface, frowning a little at the effort. They still choked his voice when he continued. "—They tell each other what troubles them instead of lying and pretending it's nothing!"

He glared at his other, but the darkling stared at the floor, refusing to meet his gaze. The fight drained from him as quickly as it had come and he slithered to the floor, shoulders drooping. His voice was a bare whisper. "You don't have to pretend with me, Yami. Why do you lie?"

"Sometimes I do not understand myself," Yami answered after a minute, still facing away, his voice soft, uninflected—the intended meaning behind the statement unclear. "Forgive me. I do not mean to hurt you."

"There's nothing to forgive."

The other chuckled mirthlessly. "Now who lies?" He shook his head and spoke again before Yugi could answer: "You are angry with me."

"I'm not."

"I can see it in your eyes."

"I'm not angry with you, Yami," Yugi repeated, closing his eyes tiredly. "Frustrated, maybe, but not angry."

"Semantics," he dismissed with a careless wave of his left hand. When he turned his eyes were dark, sorrowful. "You are too kind, little one, to wish to spare me your wrath. You offer an escape which frees me and leaves your will unsatisfied, and I am selfish enough to accept. I cannot bear for you to be angry at me."

"Yami—"

"I seek only to protect you."

"From what?" Yugi asked. "The Shadow Games were locked away, the power of the Millennium Items broken. The Puzzle is just a harmless trinket. The world is safe and none are after us. What do I need protection from?"

Yami stare at him, then knelt before him, head bowed. "From the one thing I can never truly protect you against."

It took Yugi longer than he would like to admit to puzzle what the former spirit meant; and even after he knew, he was still left confused. "Why would I need protection from you? I don't understand."

"No," his other sighed. "You do not. I do not want you to."

"Why?"

"I. . . . Maybe one day I will be able to tell you."

"Why not now?"

"Yugi, please. . . ."

The boy frowned at the soft plea, the tone so strange from the normally assertive teen. Slowly, he nodded. "Alright. I won't ask."

Yami sighed, the breath equal parts relief and sorrow. "Thank you, my light." But Yugi felt wretched. Crimson eyes studied him. "Are you hungry, Yugi?"

"Hungry?"

"You threw away your breakfast this morning after little more than a bite and you barely touched your hamburger. Don't think I didn't notice."

But he had; he had figured Yami was too wrapped up in Anzu to notice much of anything that happened around him, as testified by the fact that he didn't see Joey slip salt in his soda under the guise of grabbing the ketchup. But Yami had noticed him; it was a strange, bubbly warmth in his stomach that greeted this realization, and he smiled shyly, ducking his head.

"Would you like me to fix you something?"

His head shot up. "You don't have to do that!" he cried. "Anzu—"

"Understands," Yami interrupted firmly. "I told her I might not be back. We'll get together again later. So?" An elegant eyebrow lifted in question.

Yugi lips slowly twisted into a smile which became wry. "It's pointless to argue with a Pharaoh, isn't it."

"Quite." The darkling smirked.

"Alright, then. I'd like something to eat."

The Egyptian pulled him easily to his feet, and Yugi giggled. The dusky hand was warm around his own, firm, and it felt . . . good. "Any requests?"

"Ah," he hedged, startled, eyes flying up from their joined hands. "No. No, anything's fine."

"Very well," Yami agreed. Yugi wondered if he imagined the strange look his other gave him. The darkling maintained his grip on his hand and pulled him from the room, stopping abruptly just outside the door. Yugi's eyes widened as the darkling suddenly invaded his personal space, a finger waved less than an inch from his nose. "But on one condition."

"What's that?" he asked, leaning back to gain some space.

"If I fix it, you have to eat it all—no excuses."

Yugi couldn't help it: he laughed.

o/o/o/o/o

_The hours of dawn and dusk were when Egypt really came alive, before the sun turned the white sands into a furnace and after it had turned to the horizon so much of the heat had bled into the night. It was an exacting balance, performing the necessities of life between the extremes of the desert clime—burning at one end and freezing at the other._

_It had always been so; and though modern technology had eased the harsh bite, it could not render the terrible beauty of those far-reaching lands impotent. It was still deadly to the foolish and unwary, to the arrogant who thought themselves more powerful than the exacting desert._

_**Sometimes**, Atemu mused, **the desert can be as treacherous as the sea. Men's lives are claimed by both, and even the most experienced traveler is not safe from Nature, so unpredictable in her fury.** His thoughts were on Maako Tsunami as his crimson eyes followed a pair of foreigners down the hard-packed dirt street._

_Both were male. Both were dressed as explorers were a bad American movie. He hadn't seen many, but he had seen enough to note the resemblance—though it was the inappropriateness of the clothing that had struck him first. Cowboy hats, leather vests, boots, black and dark brown with a khaki-ish colored shirt . . . two pistols strapped to their hips. He couldn't see any but they were sure to have a knife or two as well._

_Watching them walk, with a swagger and bounce found only in the young and brash, boasting to any who would listen, and constantly readjusting the belts that held the guns, he was willing to bet neither truly knew how to use them . . . and every low-life and thief for a mile around probably knew it. As he recalled, news like that traveled quickly, much like gossip in a high school; and of all the things that had changed over the millennia, he doubted that was one of them. _

_**A thief would probably be doing them a favor in relieving them of their goods and valuables**, he noted dryly as they disappeared into a cantina. Then he looked around. **Where did Bakura disappear to**?_

_Ryou was with Yugi, the pair quietly looking at an impressive selected of hand-beaded jewelry; why, he wasn't quite sure, but they were happy so he was content to leave them in peace. Joey was a couple stalls over, arguing with a merchant over some fruit—how he could possibly still be hungry barely an hour after the "all-you-can-eat" breakfast buffet at the hotel would forever be a mystery to him. Tristan was just past him across the street, frowning as he studied a pair of what looked like necklaces, tooled metal though instead of bead. He realized Anzu was nowhere in sight a bare moment before her voice sounded behind him._

"_Atemu?"_

_The Egyptian closed his eyes and took a deep breath to gather his patience before turning to her with a small smile. "Anzu," he greeted calmly. A quick glance at her bright blue eyes let him know what was on her mind, and it was only years of training instilled in him as a child that kept him from frowning at her. By Ra, there were times he devoutly wished the girl was not so perceptive; none of the others had noticed anything amiss._

_The danced flashed a brighter smile as she stepped next to him. She fidgeted with a bracelet on her left wrist while she looked around, making a point of looking everywhere around the fairly crowded market and street except at him. He followed her gaze when she looked towards the still-rising sun, guessing it to be a little before ten._

_Then she cleared her throat nervously. "Wow, it's getting hot," he observed; it was an old observation, made many times in the week they had been in Egypt. "It never gets this warm in Domino."_

"_No," Atemu agreed, though he was pretty sure it had been hotter than this just last summer. After all, the temperature hadn't climbed to a hundred yet._

_She glanced at him, then followed his gaze to Yugi and Ryou, both now laughing with the merchant over something or other. "You aren't going to buy something?"_

"_What for?" he replied. He wondered how long it would take her to bring up the subject she really wanted to talk about, the one he had so far avoided like a plague._

"_Well, to have a memento of your journey. You know, a keepsake, so you'll always remember it."_

"_I suspect this trip will be difficult to forget, worthless token or no." He almost grimaced as she abandoned her pretense of studying their surroundings to focus her full attention on him._

_Her expression was earnest, almost shining. "The value isn't in the gift," she told him. "That lies in the memories it represents and has nothing to do with the value of the thing you buy." Blue eyes flickered over his impassive face. "Though I would have thought you'd find more value in your people's crafts. Don't you want to take a piece of your home back with you? You don't know when you'll ever get to see it again, after all."_

_Atemu looked away from her, down the street opposite where their friends shopped for some such trinket. Yugi had asked almost the same question yesterday when he had refused the boy's money. He sighed. "Have you always lived in the same house, Anzu?"_

_She blinked, confused by the question but answered anyway after a beat. "No. We moved when I was seven."_

"_Do you miss your old house?"_

"_I guess . . . I haven't—I don't really remember it."_

_The other nodded. "So your new home has replaced your old house."_

"_Well, I guess that—"_

"_Because all the things you care about are there."_

_She understood; he could see that in her wide-eyed stare, but she wasn't convinced. "But," she began, "but this is different. You grew up here. It wasn't just a few years. Your whole life was here. That has to mean something. It has to mean **more**."_

"_Because it **does**," he asked, "or because **you** think it should?"_

_Anzu stared at him, her mouth working without sound. He shook his head. "Anzu. Imagine you spent your entire life in your house. You grew up in it; all your memories are there. Then you move away. Another family moves in. They paint it, redecorate, change the furniture. They make their own memories. And even though you may remember the old house, you, too, make memories in your new one._

"_Now imagine ten years has passed, or twenty, and one day you decide to go back, just to visit, to remember your childhood. But life has not stood still in your absence. It has changed. It doesn't look the same. The insides are different, the people who had made it home long gone. The shell remains, but the reason you loved it isn't there anymore."_

_He studied her face closely. "In your memories, it will always be your home, but now it is just another house. It is fun to look at, but it has nothing to offer . . . nothing that doesn't already reside inside your heart anyway."_

"_I . . . think I understand," she said. Then that familiar look entered her eyes._

"_Anzu. . . ." he began, attempting to forestall her, but she spoke over him._

"_What's wrong, then, if it's not homesickness?"_

_His eyes landed on Yugi and quickly darted away. "It's nothing."_

_Her look turned shrewd, almost harsh. "You don't actually expect anyone to believe you when you say that, do you?"_

_Atemu hissed irritably and ground his teeth lightly, eyes narrowing. "I'm coming to realize I will sorely miss the respect afforded me by my position as ruler of Khemet."_

"_What?" She blinked._

"_Belief is not necessary to comply with my wishes," he clarified, crossing his arms across his chest. His stare was impassive as he resumed his scan of the marketplace. They stood just outside it; the merchants nearest them had wisely abandoned recruiting their patronage after a hard, red-eyed glare, so despite the bustle twelve or so feet away, they were afforded a remarkable amount of peace. The once-Pharaoh was beginning to regret it but he refused to abandon his chosen post. Yet._

_Besides, Anzu was persistent and bull-headed (he had learned first-hand) so walking away wouldn't necessarily discourage her. He would just give her the opportunity to follow him and draw other (equally stubborn) persons into his business. Though, in all fairness, one of those he wished to keep ignorant deserved to know. He just hadn't yet found the courage or correct method to enlighten him._

"_Does it have anything to do with why you returned from the Afterlife?"_

_Atemu froze. **Damn perceptive child!** He cursed silently. Why did his young partner have to have such dedicated and observant friends?_

"_Tell me," Anzu encourage softly into his silence. "It's not healthy to keep it all bottled up inside. And maybe I can help you find a solution." She smiled brightly, playfully. "I mean, if it worked once. . . ."_

_For long minutes, he stared into her eyes, clear and honest, her only desire to help. Then he looked away, seeking out the distant horizon as he battled within himself. He had to admit she had a point, and if anyone would be able to help, it would likely be her. She had been Yugi's friend the longest. . . ._

_He sighed and bowed his. "Alright. . . ."_

o/o/o/o/o

Between one moment and the next, Yugi woke. He blinked his eyes in the darkened room, the only light the pale glow of the stars through his skylight window, which cast a strange shadow by his desk, one that looked suspiciously like a person with spiky, gravity-defying hair and a slim body curved forward over the desk. The shadow reminded him impossibly of Yami, a blessing as he otherwise probably would have screamed and woken the _real_ Yami, which would have brought the elder Egyptian running to him in a panicky fury, which would be bad and embarrassing and. . . .

The boy continued to simply stare at it, blinking slowly, attempting to force his tired mind to distinguish the truth behind the image and return it to its constituent parts. Once he managed that, he would have to remember it; it would be funny to tell his other. . . .

It was only after three full minutes that his mind clicked on a startling fact, one he would later be highly embarrassed he hadn't realized sooner: that _was_ Yami—the real living, breathing, spirit-turned-flesh-and-blood Yami.

He blinked at the dark figure, reminded faintly of the last time he had woken to find his other watching him. But Yami wasn't watching him, and that was actually more surprising to him than his presence. Instead, he sat with his knees under the desk and his feet hooked around the outside of the front chair legs; his elbows were propped on the tabletop, his hands cradling his head on either side of his face, staring down. It was a position Yugi often assumed to read for school, but no book was open before him and there wasn't enough light to read even if there was.

He wished he could see Yami's face. He wished he knew what his other was thinking.

Then Yami turned to look at him and their eyes met, dark crimson locking on sleep blurred violet. For a long minute, neither moved. It occurred to Yugi that he still didn't know why his other was there. At another time, he would have asked, but he was much too tired to bother with it now.

Wordlessly, he shifted back in the bed, making space. The darkling stared at him unblinking, not moving, and Yugi waited. Eventually, Yami stood and slid into the bed beside him, pulling the covers up under their chins. He smiled sleepily at the crimson eyes that still watched him as his own drifted closed, his mind slipping back into the darkness that had inexplicably relinquished its hold.

He smiled wider as he felt a soft pressure on his forehead, and wasn't sure if it was just a dream; his eyelids were too heavy to pry open so he just slipped away, strangely happy, into dreams he wouldn't remember come morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Gah, would you believe Joey's the reason this chapter took so long to get out? I had the first two parts typed up weeks ago, and they were written even before that. I only just finished writing the last part last night. It stinks, really, because by the time I actually got around to writing it, I couldn't remember what he and Yugi were supposed to be talking about.

And on that note . . . I keep losing my muse for this story. And my timeline bit the dust with this chapter, so I don't have that any more, and couldn't find it before that. If I mess up any of the time, please tell me. And let me know what you think of Joey, ok? Yugi and Yami I'm pretty comfortable writing, but Joey and Honda give me fits.

So, yeah. . . . If you have any problems or questions with this chapter or any of the others, let me know. Please. You might think they're nothing or stupid, but it's entirely possible that it's a point I've overlooked or forgotten. I think I'm generally pretty good about remembering what happened where and when but I've been having trouble with it on this story—the fault of my vanishing muse, I think. And thank you everyone for your patience. Schools the pits, but it's necessary. Though,I mighthave more time to write now.Anyway, read on. Read on and enjoy, if you will.

**Chapter 6**

Yugi opened his eyes and didn't move. Curled up on his side beneath the covers, he could almost imagine there was a warm weight at his back. Almost.

He didn't need to look to know Yami was gone. Closing his eyes, he sighed. Truly, he had expected the once-spirit to be gone come morning, so why did he feel disappointed? Why did he wish the other would come back and wrap his arms around him, instead of just perching rigidly on the side? He didn't understand it, unless . . . maybe it was a desire for the closeness they had shared before, when the darkling was a constant presence in the back of his mind?

It was mildly disturbing to think about. Because if that was true, and he was craving Yami's presence, his touch, then that meant he _had_ become dependent on his other, even after all his efforts to the contrary. He frowned at the thought of his weakness, the last couple days playing mockingly before his eyes. Was that the cause of all the tears? A psychologically driven need for his "other self?"

A new thought opened his eyes in surprise and he stared at the wall blankly. If he needed to be near Yami because of how close they had been before, and how long they had been together, was it possible Yami's strange behavior was a product of his need to be near Yugi, complicated by his love for Anzu?

Never before had it occurred to him to think of other people like a drug, but maybe. . . . Was it possible to become so used to another's presence, close and constant, that losing that level of contact left a craving for its return? Rather like an addict long for his next fix.

Yugi frowned at the comparison. Everything he had ever been taught labeled drugs and drug users and anything associated with either as "bad" and he resisted—resented—the implication that wanting Yami's company was bad. There was nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with one's friends, after all, so why should he feel bad? He had Yami had been together constantly for three years through one life and death adventure after another. Of course he would miss his company!

He sighed again, an aggravated hiss, and rolled onto his back, flinging out his arm. Yes, of course he missed his other self. The spirit had been the one who was always there, ready with an encouraging word just when he needed it, always ready and willing to help or protect when he got in trouble—any kind of trouble at all. And he had even been able to help the other, too. They had been there for each other, true friends through everything.

So how much worse would it have to be for Yami? Yugi had been the first person he met—for a long time he had been the only person the darkling truly knew, possessing no memories of his previous life, and the only one Yami could interact with on a regular basis. For three years, his life had revolved around Yugi. What must it be like for him, to suddenly have that taken away?

Yugi was sure he was glad to have his freedom and independence back. But could there be a part of him that missed what he had been accustomed to? He had never thought about it before, but now he wondered: did a prisoner, after being freed from his chains, sometimes wish for the shackles he had grown accustomed to? Did he desire their familiarity, no matter how much he might have detested them?

It was a concept he found strangely nebulous, unable to decide on a satisfactory answer within his mind. He couldn't pin down a comparable experience to set his theory against, so he was forced to abandon it. Maybe he could pose it to Yami later? Maybe; if Yami wasn't in one of his moods. If the atmosphere was right.

This decided (to his peace of mind) Yugi turned his head to see how much longer he had before he had to get up to open the Game Shop. It took a moment for the glowing numbers to make sense in his mind. But when they did, he shot up.

"No!"

Horrified, he snatched at the plastic box, but the numbers didn't change, even with him staring at them hard bare inches before his eyes. 7:55, it was seven fifty-five! He was supposed to open the shop at eight! Why hadn't hic alarm clock gone off at six like it was supposed to? His thumb pushed against the lever that turned it on and off, but it didn't move, already firmly in place. Had he forgotten to turn in on? Had he turned it off without waking up and simply gone back to sleep?

7:56.

"Shit!"

Yugi dropped the clock, flung the covers back and stumbled out of bed. He began frantically picking through his clothes, carelessly flinging aside anything he didn't want—too dirty, too dirty, ripped, smelly—his mind whirling a mile a minute over everything he had to do and should do and couldn't do—

He needed a shower, to use the bathroom, brush his teeth, fix his hair, make breakfast, restock te shelves, fill the register, take inventory, sweep the floor, sweep the sidewalk, dust the shelves, the counter. . . . He was sure he was forgetting something but gave it up when he tripped trying to hop into his pants; he squirmed into them while on the floor and quickly shoved his head through the neck of his t-shirt. He nearly ripped holes in the shirt punching his arms through the sleeves, but it was on and he was out of the room before the cloth settled around his waist He had forgotten socks, but he dismissed them, pounding rapidly down the stairs.

Two minutes. That had taken two minutes. Maybe he could restock the shelves before it was time to open. There couldn't be that many things to put out, and he could always set the register after the door was opened. That was just a matter of sorting the bills and recording the numbers. Hardly ideal but it would work. Grandpa—

Yugi froze at the bottom of the short flight of stairs, just inside the store, one shoe on his foot, the other still in hand. Dimly aware the lights were on when they shouldn't have been, he stared at the real reason he had stopped, his mouth hanging slightly open in a question that never made it to his lips.

Yami was already behind the counter, calmly counting out money and setting it in the slots, making a tally after each stack in the open book beside him. He didn't seem to notice Yugi's presence until he reached for a roll of quarters; then he looked up in surprise, blinking at the shorter boy like he was an apparition. "Ah—morning, Yugi."

A slightly perplexed frown followed the greeting (did he expect Yugi to do something?) and then he went back to filling the register, deftly knocking the coins into their tray then moving on to the next batch. The shorter youth just stared, hands slowly drifting to his side, before glancing around uncertainly.

From where he was, he could just make out a pair of collapsed boxes that hadn't been there yesterday. The shelves were all full, neat and clean. The floor was swept. He couldn't see out the door (which was unlocked though the sign still read 'closed') it was a fair bet that the walk was clear, too. His gaze drifted from the door back to the tanned being behind the counter dressed casually in black jeans and a red short-sleeved tee, wild hair pulled back in a low tail, minus the usual leather accessories with only a flat gold necklace hanging to mid-chest, and couldn't believe his eyes.

Nervous, tapping his shoe jerkily, he glanced back up the short stairway into the house. Was this maybe a dream? One of those weird stress-dreams that played out one's fears and he would wake up in a panic hours before he actually needed to get up? Yeah, that was it. He would wake up and Yami would still be beside him, maybe close enough to put his arm around over his waist, and he could laugh at himself and go back to sleep. Yeah, that had to be it.

"Yugi? Something wrong?"

He turned to see Yami halfway between the door and the counter, apparently walking back from flipping the sign, though he changed direction the moment he saw Yugi's face, the concern on his own deepening as he moved closer. "Yugi?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

Yugi blinked. "Hu—oh, yeah. Yea, I'm, I'm fine. Just fine." He discretely raised his hand to pinch the inside of his arm near the elbow and started badly when it hurt a lot. But he didn't wake up and his confusion grew. He blinked again. Yami still looked worried. "What are you doing?"

Yami's only visible reaction was to arch a fine eyebrow. "I'm minding the store," he said mildly.

Yugi frowned. "I'm supposed to do that."

"Actually, you're supposed to go get dressed to go out with Joey."

"What?" He continued staring at his other, though Yami seemed to have forgotten his concern. He smirked before turning to walk back to the counter and take up his position behind it.

He spoke off-handedly over his shoulder as he walked. "Joey called for you this morning, wanting to know if you could go out somewhere today. As you were still sleeping, I took the liberty of assuring him you could."

"But—"

"He'll be here in about thirty minutes, young one. So I suggest you go get ready so Joey doesn't have to stand around waiting after the fact. I don't think Grandpa would take exception to it."

And he would. Yugi smiled wanly at the reference, remembering the time Joey had broken a priceless Egyptian artifact while poking around the house waiting for him to get ready. Grandpa had been furious.

He frowned. "But weren't you and Anzu going out today?" Yugi tried to read the expression that suddenly flitted across Yami's face, but the other looked down before he could catch more than a glimpse.

He bent to look for something beneath the counter, and said, "Anzu has a dance tryout today on the other side of town. We're going out tonight after I close the Shop."

It occurred to Yugi that they could have spent the day together again, even if only while tending the store, if not for Joey. Again. He bit his lip. "Are you going to be out late, then?"

"Umm. . . . Midnight, I think." Yami stood up with a rag in his hand and started wiping down the counter. "Anzu wanted to watch a movie."

"Oh."

Yugi was glad his mind remained blank instead of pursuing . . . whatever path it might have taken on hearing Anzu and movie in the same sentence. He knew what couple usually did when they watched movies. But for once his mind didn't betray him. He watched Yami's arm move back and forth over the glass.

After a while, Yami looked up and caught him; his hand slowed. ". . . Don't you need to go get changed?"

"Oh!" Yugi started. "Right."

He paused, watching Yami go back to work, then turned and proceeded to ascend the stairs back into the house. He still felt like the world had been turned on its head, but maybe if he just went with it everything would settle back into place, right side up, the way he knew it. He wondered if then things would make more sense.

o/o/o/o/o

_Atemu sat on the floor of the Egyptian hotel room, his back braced against the bed. The sky was dark, the sun having already set on the eastern side, and he had one arm wrapped around his drawn up leg as he stared out the window._

_He had reclaimed his name. But it still sounded strange to his ears and doubly strange on his tongue, on the tongues of others._

_He had reclaimed his memories. But it felt like two lives, two separate people living them, instead of a missing piece of himself falling into place; and which one was the real him?_

_He had reclaimed his body. . . . But that was strangest of all. Because it didn't feel like his skin. Because it did. Because there was no bright presence in the back of his mind and one set of memories told him there shouldn't be while the other missed it terrible, reached for it, and ached when it couldn't be found._

_The former spirit was glad it had been deemed too late to do anything by the tie they returned to the hotel. They couldn't procure any more rooms for this night, so he was allowed one more night at Yugi's side. He had a night to prepare himself for spending the rest away from his little light. He wasn't sure what he would have done if this wasn't the case. Perhaps he'd have gone crazy. Again._

_An ironic, almost bitter smile twisted his lips, brought no new light to his eyes as they stared out over the darkened golden sands. He had forgotten how lonely the empty desert could be, even in the midst of a city._

_The door opened and he looked over to see Yugi stop just inside. "Yami?" he asked, confused. "Why are you sitting on the floor?"_

_Atemu opened his mouth to answer, couldn't find an appropriate excuse, closed it again. He smiled a little instead, sheepish, and shrugged eloquently. _

_The youth accepted it with a short laugh, and then climbed onto the hard bed, settling down near the foot, back to the door. Atemu twisted so he could look up and over at him comfortably. Excitement radiated from the lithe form almost palpably and it sped the other's words when he spoke._

"_Everyone's settled in," he announced. "Kaiba's agreed to help us get papers for you and Bakura so you'll be able to come home with us. He thinks it'll take a couple days, maybe as long as two weeks. I don't think he's in a hurry. And Bakura doesn't think he needs papers at all, convinced he could sneak into the country just fine without them and I think he probably could, if he tried hard enough, but Ryou wanted him to come back right, completely legal and legitimate or whatever and he dropped it. Said Kaiba had better do a good job with those papers._

"_Tristan and Joey were surprise he gave in so easily. Anzu, too, but she hid it better than those two. She just blinked while they exclaimed and got him to growl at them. I think he threatened to cut out their tongues if they didn't shut-up but I don't quite remember. And I don't think he'd go through with it. I think I saw him glance at Ryou when he said it, something in his expression I don't remember seeing before, something softer. Do you think he's changed now that Zorc's gone? Do you think he could be our friend now?"_

_Yami blinked, caught rather off-guard by the abrupt demand for his participation. And the subject didn't help. He shifted uncomfortably and looked towards the door. ". . . I think he can begin to move on," he offered after a moment. "It will be up to him how much he changes. But, hopefully, he will become a friend."_

"_I would like that," Yugi admitted, somewhat shyly, before continuing more briskly. "And Grandpa suggested we set up sheets on the floor for you to sleep in until tomorrow, when we can get you your own room, but you can sleep on the bed with me if you want."_

_How many surprises would come in the night if he agreed? He shook his head. "The floor's fine, Aibou."_

"_Are you sure? I don't want you to be uncomfortable. And I don't mind, really. There's enough room."_

_Glancing at the bed, he tended to disagree. Twin-sized beds, contrary to their name, were not actually meant for two people. "I'm perfectly fine with sleeping on the floor, young one. Besides, I believe your grandfather would be more comfortable with the arrangement."_

_Yugi shook his head and scooted closer to the edge on his knees. "Oh, he doesn't mind! It's not like you're a girl or anything."_

_Atemu grinned as Yugi laughed, cringing inwardly. If he had his way. . . . "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, Aibou."_

"_Yami, you lived in my head and heart for three years. Why would it be uncomfortable?"_

_The elder shook his head, giving up and climbing to his feet, perching on the side of the bed. "In that case, I thank you, my hikari."_

"_So what do you want to do until bedtime?"_

_Atemu blinked, catching three answers that would be patently inappropriate to this point in time. "Whatever you like, Aibou."_

_Yugi froze at the address, cocking his head. His eyes suddenly stared into the far distance, unfocused in an expression Atemu found he could not read._

"_Aibou?"_

_Violet eyes blinked. "Mou hitori no boku," he answered. "You don't have to call me that any more now, you know."_

"_Aibou?"_

_Yugi nodded. "We're not bound to each other any more. You're free now. We don't even have to be friends . . . if you don't want to."_

_Atemu had the sudden, disconcerting impression that he was actually facing a Yugi three years younger than the one he had originally bid farewell earlier this same morning. What had happened to the confident youth who had defeated him in Duel Monsters?_

_He pursed his lips, then shook his head and scooted forward, catching Yugi's hands in his own. "Aibou—yes, Aibou, you were never my friend and partner by anything other than choice. Had the Puzzle never been a medium connecting us, still I would have been your friend. I will always be your friend. And that will only change should you no longer desire my friendship."_

_The tension melted out of Yugi's frame faster than an ice cube in the sun and another happy smile curved his lips. Then small hands were snatched from dusky fingers and thrown around the once-spirit's neck. Atemu was taken off-guard, thrown by the lithe body suddenly pressed close to his own, but he wrapped his arms around the other's waist just the same._

"_Thank you. You're my best friend, Yami. I'd miss you so much if you were gone."_

_Atemu stared at the wall past Yugi's head. Gone. . . . His arms tightened around Yugi's waist. "Me, too, Aibou. Me, too."_

o/o/o/o/o

Despite many assurances declaring he truly did want to spend time with him, Joey didn't seem to know what to do with himself, perpetually distracted by seemingly darker thoughts than he usually entertained, his mind jumping tracks quicker than usual, and Yugi couldn't figure out enough to find a way to bring the subject up. The blond's uncomfortable, rushed avoidance of the subject (despite his lack of knowledge on what it was, exactly, that he was avoiding) made him wary of forcing the issue. If it bothered him that much, Yugi suspected he didn't really want to talk about it in the first place.

Unless it wasn't about him and was really something to do with Joey himself, a problem his friend was facing. And if that was the case, Yugi was going to switch them all to bottled water because there _had_ to be something wrong with the city's stuff if so many of his friends were developing problems they were having trouble talking to him about; it had never been an issue before!

Of course if it _was_. . . . Yugi sighed inwardly. He wished he could just to home and lock himself in his room but he suspected Yami would take exception to it and he wasn't anxious to find out if the darkling would make good on his threat and kick him out. He infinitely preferred Joey's company, awkward as it was just now, to wandering the streets alone.

Which was why he didn't protest when the taller duelist lead him to the Arcade, though his heart wasn't in it and it was the last place he wanted to be. Both lost horribly more often than not, however, and they didn't stay long. He didn't protest when the other suggested the park, nor when they quickly abandoned it upon seeing Kaiba there with Mokuba (though he was slightly confused by the reaction) in favor of the mall. He held his tongue when, after nearly an hour, Joey then grasped at the movies for relief.

After debating which movie to see for half an hour without actually getting any closer to a selection, however, his friend conceded to defeat, an act which drained him of the nervous energy that had hummed beneath his skin all morning. Smiling wanly at Yugi, he shrugged and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "This hasn't exactly been our most exciting out ever, has it, Yug'?"

Yugi's answering smile was more genuine. "Well," he offered reasonably. "It's been one of the least dangerous."

"Yeah," Joey laughed, honey brown eyes darting around the street. "It's strange, ain't it? Not having to worry 'bout that stuff?"

"I guess." He frowned peering back the way they had come to keep from having to look at his friend. "It hasn't really sunk in yet. You know? It's only been a couple weeks and all, and we used to go that long without any weird stuff happening, at least a couple times."

"Yeah . . . yeah, I guess you're right. But then the Spirits were still spirits, and all and now they're not and it just feels different, ya know? Like it's really finally over."

"Yugi pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "You're right, Joey. It does feel weird."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

The dashed out sentence snapped his head up, eyes narrowing unconsciously. "What?"

"Ah . . ." Joey gestured helplessly, his fingers grasping at words that wouldn't come, and finally just smiled sheepishly. "Nuthin'. I was just wonderin' if ya wanted ta get an ice cream?"

"For lunch?" Yugi blinked, expression easing back into acceptance.

"It's summer," the blond returned easily, shrugging carelessly, as if those two words explained everything. Yugi supposed, in a way, they did. For what was summer but a few months to have fun and enjoy themselves without larger care or responsibility? It was a fast disappearing release from expectations that would be gone when they finished school, finally and for good. So he smiled.

"Okay."

Twenty minutes later, the pair had their iced confections and had retreated to the patio to enjoy them outside, the hot Domino sun a relief after Egypt's glaring heat. Yugi perched on the edge of his seat, feet crossed beneath his chair, elbows propped either side of his chocolate chocolate chip milkshake, hands holding his head while he drank.

Joey sat crookedly, his knees sticking out, his attention only half on his sundae, the rest on watching Yugi without _looking_ like he was watching him, and the smaller boy's nerves. First Yami and Bakura, now Joey. . . Why couldn't his friends just act like themselves? He was really getting tired of everyone being weird, especially without him knowing why. Just how much had changed while they were in Egypt?

He frowned down into his shake when Joey twirled his spoon in the air and opened his mouth to speak, closing it again without saying a word. Just what was bothering him? And why did he keep giving him such odd looks, like he might break at any moment? Had Yami said something? But what could the former spirit have said to make Joey treat him like glass?

He felt a headache coming on. If he found out Yami had something to do with this. . . . "Is something wrong, Joey?"

"Eh?" The blond looked at him askance, head tilted like a confused puppy, his hair falling across this eyes. A hand brushed it back fruitlessly.

"You keep looking at me weird. Is it my outfit? Yami swore when I bought it that it looked fine," he added on a whim, hoping the stab at his own fashion sense would loosen the other up since his choice of clothes had always seemed to be a point of amusement for his friends.

"What? No—" Joey paused quickly to actually look at what he was wearing: knee-length cargo shorts with a blue-grey t-shirt that read 'How do you keep and idiot busy?' on the front—and the back, without any of the gaudy accessories he had become known for. "—no, it's fine. I just—you know."

"Not unless you tell me," he countered good-naturedly. "Come on, Joe. I don't bite—that's Yami."

"Heh, yeah," the other answered grinning. Then he frowned, played a moment with his ice cream, blew out a sigh, and fixed Yugi with a hard stare. "Alright, to put it out there: What wrong with you, buddy?"

Yugi sat back, startled. "Wrong with me?"

"Yeah. You've been acting off for days now, and I thought you were just adjusting and all or something and things'd go back to normal quick-like, you know, but then yesterday. . . . And I'm just worried about ya, man. What's up? You know you can talk to ole Joey. Now, spill."

The diminutive duelist was left staring into pleading puppy-eyes, feeling—one again—that the world had turned on him. He blinked.

"Come on, Yug'!" Joey prodded at his continued silence. "I know I ain't Yami but we're still best pals, right? We tell each other stuff, yeah? Friends forever and all that sappy stuff, right? Come on, Yugi, ole buddy, ole pal! You're killin' me! I gotta know, you know?"

The tirade pulled an unintended smile from Yugi's lips. "Calm down, Joey!" he laughed, holding his hands out placatingly. "I hear you. I just. . . ." He glanced away. "I don't know where to start."

"That big, huh?' The blond sat his chin on his hand. "How 'bout the beginning, then?"

". . . I'm not really sure where that is," he admitted after a moment, looking up at his friend helplessly. He didn't add that he also didn't really want to talk about it.

Joey shrugged. "Then just pick a spot. We can work out the beginning later."

He was quiet a minute, thinking, then sighed. "Alright. . . . Near as I can figure, it started back in Egypt. At least, I think it did. I didn't really notice anything until Grandpa left, or didn't realize it if I did, but—Yami . . . he's been acting strange lately, you know? And I guess . . . well, I guess I must've thought he was just getting used to being alive again after so long not . . . being alive, half alive.

"But instead of getting better, like I thought it would, it just seems to have gotten worse. He came into my bedroom randomly in the middle of the night a few days ago. And I don't think he meant to wake me up, but he did, and he looked so sad and he would tell me why. Then he did it again last night, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make it better because he's not talking to me. I should probably just leave it alone, Ryou said to, but—" He shook his head. "—I can't."

He looked up, then, and found Joey watching him seriously, the grave expression strange to see on the other's generally carefree face. It made him look more mature but didn't really fit the boy he had befriended three or so years ago, didn't fit his genial nature. Then his expression shifted subtly, softened, and he said, "Sounds rough, man. And you're tried to talk to him but he won't tell you anything?"

"He insists it's nothing."

Joey nodded. "Is there anything else?"

Yugi frowned. "No."

The other watched him a moment longer, annoying Yugi with his uncharacteristically unreadable expression; then he shrugged and leaned forward. "Have you tried talk' to Anzu 'bout it?"

He grimaced. "I . . . I don't really see Anzu much away from Yami, and I can't very well ask her while he's there."

"Yeah, I know whatcha mean," Joey said, slouching now. "They've kinda become attached at the hop, haven't they? It's weird. . . ." That last seemed to have been directed more to himself than Yugi, spoken almost too quietly for the shorter boy to hear, the taller duelist suddenly staring at his own little world. Yugi frowned.

"What's weird?"

Joey jumped. "Eh? Oh, you know," he waved a hand carelessly. "I just didn't think 'temu really went for her." Yami had, much to Yugi's surprise, been rather amused by Joey's tendency to leave the 'A' off the beginning of his true name, especially when he was flustered. Yugi couldn't understand why and his other wasn't in a hurry to explain, waving it aside whenever he brought it up.

Yugi frowned harder. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said," he answered blithely. "But he did, so I guess I was wrong, yeah?"

The shorter duelist shook his head. "I don't understand."

" 'S nothing to understand." Joey paused. "Though, all this don't really explain why you ran outta the Arcade the other day, Yug'."

"What are you talking about?" he demanded. "I didn't feel good."

"Yeah, you didn't look good, either," Joey agreed. "But you're fine now, not ill, at least, and if you'd really been sick we woulda had to drag you outta there. 'Sides, you use to use that excuse when you had to go to the nurse's office after getting' beat up, remember. So what is it?"

For a minute, all he could do was stare at him. It really wasn't fair. Oh, he knew Joey was more perceptive than most people gave him credit for, but he wasn't _supposed_ to be able to see these things, especially when they hadn't see a lot of each other recently. That was more. . . . His eyes narrowed. "What did Yami tell you?"

"What?" He was sure he saw guilt flash behind the surprise. "Nothing!"

"You say that the same way Yami does every time I ask him what's wrong."

Joey's jaw set petulantly. "He just said you were kinda upset and he was worried about you. That's all. And he didn't want me to tell you that, so you'd best forget you heard it. I don't want no crazy evil spirit on my tail, ya know? Even though he's not a spirit, really. . . ."

"Forgotten," Yugi agreed, more interested in the confirmation that Yami had had a hand in this than what he'd said. "He asked you to take me out today, didn't he?"

Hurt flashed through brown eyes and Joey leaned further away from him, frowning. "You think I need someone ta ask me ta spend time with my best bud?"

"I didn't mean it like that, Joey."

"I'll admit he was the one who called me first this morning, woke me up just like I asked 'im to yesterday. I was the one who wanted to do stuff today. I thought it'd be nice, you know? Jus' like old times."

Yugi scrubbed his face with his hands, his shoulders drooping. "I'm sorry, Joey. I didn't mean anything by it. Really. I'm just . . . I'm not thinking clearly. I'm really worried about it. He's hurting, and I don't know how to help."

"Yeah, well. . . ." Joey shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know how to help either. You wants I should keep an ear out, huh?"

He smiled. "You're a great friend, Joey."

"Aw. . . ."

"Could you . . . I don't know. Could you just maybe not mention any of this to Yami? What I said?"

"Sure thing, bud," Joey agreed, grinning. "Scout's honor. So, you up for some more exploring or what?"


End file.
